Descent
by LowWren
Summary: It was gone. Two years of death had taken everything and Shepard had no clue how to get it back. He was falling, and she wasn't there to stop his descent. A novelization of the events of Mass Effect 2. Sequel to Shell. Rated M for sexuality, language, violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome everyone!  
>As promised, this story will cover the events of Mass Effect 2, including both the Arrival and Overlord DLC's. I'm looking forward to hearing everyone's thoughts on my depiction and, as always, I welcome all comments and critique. Receiving your feedback and knowing there are people out there reading and enjoying this story as much as I am is what keeps me writing!<strong>

**This is a sequel to **_**Shell**_**. If you haven't already read it, I suggest you do. It covers a pretty good amount that will be touched on in **_**Descent.**_

**BioWare still owns it all. I'm just playing in their universe.**

**Enjoy!**

**xxxxxxxxxx**

It wasn't a light he saw when it all ended. It was only black. A fathomless darkness that pulled him deeper, tugged him down, until he was far from it all - from the fire, from the cold, from the screaming in his ears. There was no pain, no loss, no guilt. He let himself fade until there was nothing. He was nothing.

Until something beat in the depths.

_**We know you, Shepard.**_

"I think… I think he's waking up."

"What? No, that's impossible. It's too early. Probably just some minor brain activity, response to the cybernetics."

_There was warmth. It spread through him slowly, over his chest, his legs, his arms. To his fingers, his feet. His eyes opened and found the sun._

"_Thought I'd find you here."_

_The deep voice was as full as laughter as it ever was, but there was something else in it. Some kind of hurt._

"_Dad?"_

_It was then that he noticed there was something wrong with the sun. It was too bright, too white. His eyes were burning. Everything was burning._

"_I thought I'd find that girl here with you, though. At least she's got some goddamn sense." His father settled beside him, unperturbed by the smoke, by the fire. Owen stood up and stared out at the burning colony._

"_Cass? Why would I…?" His lungs felt like they were going to fall to ash. He struggled to take a breath. "Dad, what's going on?"_

"_No, not Cassidy... That little girl got out of here a long time ago, don't you worry about her." _

_He frowned at his father. What the hell was he talking about? Who else was there? Why was he just sitting there? The screams started, and it sent a piercing, electrifying shock through his mind._

"_We need to help them!" It was a need. Some desperate, unexplainable pull. He couldn't ignore it. But his father didn't move. He just smiled up at him through that big beard, giving a small shake of his head._

"_Dad, what are you doing? We have to find Mom and Bryce!"_

"_You're still so goddamn stubborn."_

_The words triggered something deep and inexplicable in him. It hit him - hard and fast and so painfully it sent him to his knees. He choked for breath, trying to recover as his nerves tingled, as his skin seemed to split. It was all burning, and the sun just seemed to get brighter._

"_We have to go… We have to help them." He growled out again, struggling to look back up. His father only continued to smile down at him._

"_Yeah, I heard you, kid. Problem is…" The man sighed, leaning forward a little to level his gaze. "Problem is, there's no helping it, Owen."_

_**We are unstoppable.**_

"…reacting to outside stimuli. He's aware of his surroundings. My God, Miranda. I think he's waking up."

"Damn it, Wilson. He's not ready yet! Give him a sedative!"

The sun was so goddamn bright. His skin burned and pulled and cracked, and he tried to pull in a breath to speak, but his throat felt as if he had swallowed glass. His heart was racing, beating a foreign, rapid pace. Blood pulsed too loud in his ears.

"Shepard, don't try to move. Just lie still. Try to stay calm."

Someone grabbed his wrist and pulled it down, someone with small, powerful hands and long dark hair. She looked like someone. He couldn't remember who. But she was wrong, her voice, her eyes. It was wrong. He pulled against her.

"Heart rate is still climbing. Brain activity is off the charts."

Her hand left as she moved from his side, and he turned his head with torn, aching muscles to follow her across the room.

The room?

The sun wasn't a sun at all. His breath shortened further, painful, panicked gasps as he struggled to get up, to get away, to figure out where the fuck they had taken him. But he was broken. An animal, beaten and tamed.

"Stats are climbing to the red zone. It's not working."

"Another dose. Now!"

The burning faded as darkness began to pull at him again. His heart slowed but his breaths were no less painful. He fought to keep his eyes open. He couldn't just let them take him. But then she was there with him again, smiling as he faded into unconsciousness. He had only a moment to wonder why she was helping them, helping them change him into a slave.

_Everything hurt. Somehow the acid was sinking deeper, eating at the wound on his back and travelling down into his flesh, spreading into corrupted veins. They pulsed in protest as sore, tired muscles brought him back to the ledge. He dropped down and rested his rifle on the rock, leveled the scope with his eye and looked out as the earth tremored. There was one still there, waiting, watching. He had no heavy ammo left. He had nothing left._

_He was alone._

"_Those fuckers got you good, didn't they?" The deep, mirthful voice surrounded him and his chest tightened as he spun around to look at the man, perched on a boulder next to Jamie's body._

"_Dad…?" His eyes widened and he shook his head. "You shouldn't be here. This… Oh fuck, I'm going crazy, aren't I?"_

"_Oh, come on now, don't start getting all dramatic on me."_

_Bile rose in his throat as he stared at the man, at his full beard and genial face, arms crossed as he watched his son. His eyes were lit with pride and grief._

"_You're dead."_

"_Yeah… That I am." The man reached up to pull back his hair, green eyes narrowing at his son. "And I'm sorry for it. But that's not what you should be concerned about. Do you remember?"_

_Shepard frowned, his brows furrowing as he stared back at the dead man. "What do you…?" There was another tremor, and the world shook. Panic coursed through him. Screams filled his ears, and the smell of death, of decay, and the festering of his own wound choked him. "We need to get out of here. There's only one left. I think I can get it. Just need to find some way to lure it above ground like the others..."_

"_Come on, son. I know you're not that slow. You know you get out of here. Do you remember?"_

_He remembered the smoke, the fire, the colony being burned around him. He remember Cass, shot in the street. He remembered his father, fighting and swearing and not giving up, and dying beside him. He remembered not being able to save them. He remembered the cage._

_And he remembered how much it burned when he woke up and saw the sun, when he gasped for breath._

"_I… Something isn't right." His eyes fell to Jamie, the woman's body covered and laid to rest in the best fashion he could manage on this goddamn rock. He couldn't save her. He couldn't save any of them. "I'm dying too, aren't I?"_

"_You need to work on that attitude, kid." His father strode forward and clapped him on the back. "Come on, we don't have all day. Do you remember?"_

_He remembered Anderson, remembered escaping. He remembered the anger, the loss, the pain. He remembered the Alliance, remembered training. He remembered not sleeping, remembered the wary looks from the other recruits as he shot and shot and kept shooting until he didn't miss. Until he never missed. He remembered the maws._

"_They killed them… All of them. I couldn't get them out." He settled down to his knees as his chest tightened again. Something was ripping at his lungs, pulling them tighter, making it harder to breath. "What's going on?"_

_His father sat in front of him and offered a smirk. "Hell if I fucking know. What else, Owen? Do you remember how you got out of here?"_

_The sky darkened around them as the tremor came closer. The world seemed to shatter with the maw's approach._

"_We need to leave. Right now."_

"_Yeah, you do, kid. So, do you remember or not?"_

_It was agony. The acid seemed to stretch and rip and sew his flesh, breaking him down and rebuilding him again and again. It made no sense, made no sense that he knew he would survive it, that he could remember the Alliance pulling him out. That he could remember the months in Brazil, fighting and fucking and hoping not to feel. He could remember the N7 program, how he thought of nothing but training and fighting and finding some way to forget._

_**You cannot escape.**_

_His mind flashed with the destruction of a civilization, and his fingers pulled at his hair to try and stop the throbbing, screaming pulse. Everything was shaking, crashing down around him, and there was only pain. "Fuck!"_

"_Come on, Owen. What else?"_

_He remembered Anderson telling him about his new assignment, remembered the disbelief as he saw the Normandy for the first time. He remembered Joker and the Doc. He remembered Kaidan. His heart seized as he fought for another breath. He remembered Saren, and the hate and the pity filled him with heat. He remembered Tali and Liara, Garrus and Wrex. The heat faded to warmth, balmy and regenerative, and his muscles weren't so sore. He remembered their fight, their mission. He remembered Sovereign. He remembered they were still coming._

"_I need to go."_

"_Damn right you do. You've still got work to do. But there's more."_

_He could breathe again. There was no longer glass in his throat as everything seemed to fade around him. As Akuze vanished, taking the tremors and the maws and the death with it. He was drifting as he remembered her, as warm brandy eyes seemed to give him new life. He remembered Ash, her long dark hair and daring looks. Remembered her impossible, irresistible attitude, the taunting and the way she always had to fight him. Remembered how goddamn stubborn she was, and how much he wanted her. How much he needed her. How desperately he loved her._

_He remembered leaving her behind. He remembered dying._

"_I need to get back to her. I need to get back."_

"_And there it is. Takes a damn fine woman to bring us back home, doesn't it?" His father gave his usual rolling laugh, but it sounded farther off. He searched the darkness, but there was only black. "Now get back to work, kid. I'll see you later."_

"Wake up, Commander."

Something shook him, but he knew the maws were gone. The air didn't smell like decay. It was too clean, too sterile, and when he opened his eyes the darkness was gone. There was only white.

"Shepard, do you hear me? You need to get out of that bed right now. This facility is under attack."

The voice was familiar, and he remembered dark hair and a hand gripping his wrist. Seeming to become aware of his consciousness, his body winced in protest at the fiery lines burning on his skin. He lifted a hand to his face, feeling the welts on his jaw. Someone had shaved him. _Where's Chakwas? _He was shaken again and his ears picked up the familiar sound of gunfire.

_What in the fuck?_

"Shepard, your scars aren't healed but I need you to move."

_Who in the fuck?_

Another blast had him electing to follow the disembodied voice's advice. He swung his legs off the bed, but they felt heavy, foreign, strange. Something had changed. He groaned as something tore in his flank, his hand grasping it as he made to stand. He took in his surroundings, lab and medical equipment abandoned around him, bold writing declaring the room 'Recovery'.

_Where in the fuck?_

"There's a pistol in locker on the other side of the lab. Hurry!"

His jaw set at her command, and he glared around the room to try and find the source. _Fuck, just give me a second. _He hobbled his way to the locker and slammed his hand on the control. Whoever these people were, they had taken it upon themselves to recreate his armor. He snapped it on and grabbed the pistol, frowning at the empty chamber. "No clips."

"It's a medbay." He swore he could hear her roll her eyes.

"Then why the fuck is there a pistol at all?" Fire climbed at the walls of the room. A door near him began to buckle and hiss, and he dove behind a computer terminal just in time to avoid the blast. "What the hell is going on? What is this place?"

"Someone is hacking security trying to kill you."

_Fucking typical. _He walked out of cover, taking longer strides as he adjusted to the strangeness of his body. He bent to pick up discarded clips from some woman killed in the explosion. "Where am I going?"

"We need to get to the shuttles. Keep moving."

_Because I know where the shuttles are. _He jumped over a crudely erected barricade only to be shot at by a security mech perched on a nearby staircase.

"Shoot it!"

"I was planning on it." His voice was a growl, and he peeked out of cover to aim at the mech, firing a round through its head and ducking back down as it shuttered and exploded. He took the stairs, climbing his way deeper into the foreign facility, trying to discern some hint to his location while he ignored the woman's spurring words and reminders to stay in cover. He couldn't figure it out, couldn't understand what the hell was happening. He had thought… He remembered the explosion, remembered the void, the crushing, strangling emptiness. He remembered how dark it was, how there was nothing. He thought he had died, but now he was here… His mind reeled as the woman's voice cut out to static.

_Where are they? Where's Ash?_

His hand came down on a door control and he stepped into a room, quickly putting a few rounds into already half-dead mechs. Consoles lined the walls, displaying brain scans and beating hearts and muscles weaved with tech.

_What the hell is this place?_

"Subject shows signs of recovery. Major organs are again functional and there are signs of rudimentary neurological activity. In an effort to speed progress, we've moved from simple organic reconstruction of the subject to bio-synthetic fusion." It was the same woman's voice, and the terminal displayed her face with the recording. Showed her long dark hair, beautiful and familiar if not for the chill that crept over him as he watched her blue eyes. "Initial results show… promise."

"What the fuck…" He stared at it terminal as her face disappeared and the recording ended. Bio-synthetic fusion? There was bile in his throat. Another blast shook the facility, and he was jolted away from the consoles, brought back to reality. He left the room behind and continued on, trying to ignore exactly how foreign his limbs felt, how strange his heart seemed to beat, how even the calluses on his fingers seemed to have disappeared. He walked through another door, raising the pistol to take out a mech across a gap.

"Shepard? What the hell?" He stared as a man peeked out of cover, firing a shot along with him at another mech who had appeared across the way. "I thought you were still a work in progress."

Shepard joined him behind the glass wall as more synthetics began firing at them. "Where are we?"

"Oh, right, sorry. Forgot this was all new to you." A few more shots, and both Shepard and the stranger took down a few mechs. The man sent out an orb of biotic energy, pulling one synthetic from its hiding place. Shepard shot it down quickly. "Nice. Look, I'm Jacob Taylor, I've been stationed here for –" A round whizzed by their heads. "Damn it! Things must be worse than I thought if Miranda's got you running around."

_Miranda? _It could only be that woman. He glared at Jacob as the man deftly dodged his question. "Where the fuck are we?"

"Look, I know you need answers, I get that. But you're just going to be as dead as before if we don't get you to that shuttle, and I doubt the boss will want to spend that money again."

"What the hell are you –" Another shot pinged the wall in front of him, and he snarled in frustration. "Fine, but I want a full fucking explanation when we get out of here."

"Cool with me. Alright, we need a gap so we can make it to that door. I'll pull them up, you just shoot them down."

"I'm getting sick of people thinking they have to tell me how to shoot."

Jacob snorted and pulled back, sending more orbs over the gap towards another group of approaching synthetics. Shepard shot them down, but he was left wanting with the accuracy of the pistol. He glanced down at the gun with a frown. "This thing is shit. You people got me my armor, where the hell is my rifle?"

"I'm sure we can hook you up. Come on, we need to move."

Shepard sighed and rolled his eyes, but followed him out of the room quickly. "Where is everyone else? Is my team here somewhere?" Jacob glanced at him over his shoulder but said nothing. "I need to make sure they get out if they're here. And there's got to be some survivors. We can't just leave them here."

"They'll be heading towards the shuttles. We can't afford to go back and look, I have to get you out of here. Come on, we're almost there." Another door swung open, and Shepard watched the man warily. Nothing was making sense, but he had no damn clue where to start searching in the inferno that was building behind them. "How long since you talked to Miranda?"

"Not long. She cut out. Taylor, what the hell is going on?"

Jacob didn't look at him, just walked forward towards another door.

"Just fucking tell me if my team is alive."

"They're alive, but they're not here. They're safe." The relief that flooded him was soothing, slowing his heart and allowing him to breathe deep. Jacob keyed open the door.

"Jacob! Shepard! Down here!" A small, balding man shouted up at them from behind a pile of scorched boxes. "Bastards got me in the leg." There was something familiar about him, about his voice. "How about you grab me some medigel out of that crate instead of just standing there, eh?"

Shepard was tempted to shoot his other leg, but he doubted that would be the right path to take to get more answers, He grabbed the medigel and tossed it to Jacob, eyeing the explosive crates piled on the other side of the room and watching the approaching fire. "We need to move."

"Yeah. Wilson, you good?" Jacob hoisted the lab tech up, and Wilson nodded.

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Shepard. Never thought you'd save my life. Guess that makes us even now."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Wilson quirked a brow and glanced to Jacob, and the soldier sighed. "Come on. Wilson, you got that crate?"

"Yeah, got it. Get down." Shepard knelt behind a wall as Wilson overloaded the crate, an explosion rocking the room around him. He heard the resulting blasts of a few mechs taken out by the explosion. "Good. Been trying to take them out for a while now. I tried coming over here to shut down the mechs, but whoever hacked security overrode the system. It's irreversible."

Jacob eyed the small man suspiciously. "We didn't ask you what you were doing. How do you even have security access? You were part of Bio Lab."

"I said I was trying to fix it, didn't I?" Shepard felt his grip tighten around his pistol as Wilson backed away, looking panicked. "I was shot! How do you explain that?"

Another blast, and Shepard pushed past the two. "Who fucking gives a shit? As I understand it, there's someone trying to kill me again, and I'd really like to find out who the fuck it is this time." He glanced back to Jacob. "Unless you'd rather give me answers?"

Jacob frowned, an expression that looked so honestly conflicted that it took him by surprise. He shook his head, but still paused. "We should find Miranda. She's still alive, and I'd bet she made it over here somewhere."

"Forget it. She was in D-Wing." The look Jacob gave Wilson was fire. Shepard recognized the need in the soldier's eyes, the need to protect, to make sure she was safe. He frowned as it made the man seem more human. "Look, you haven't heard from her, right? That means she's either dead, or she's the traitor."

"She wouldn't do that. This project was her baby – no way would she sabotage it now."

_What project? _He grunted and turned again from the two men, walking into another smoking corridor. They weren't about to tell him what this was. He'd figure it out himself.

"Shepard, wait!" Jacob hurried after him.

"I'm done gossiping about conspiracies. I don't know who either of you are and I sure as fuck don't trust you, so you can figure this shit out yourself. I'm getting out of here and finding some goddamn answers."

"We need to stick together. Those mechs will take you out."

Shepard didn't stop, just walked down the hall towards another door. He saw Wilson scurrying after behind Jacob. More security mechs waited in the next room, and he took them down in quick succession. More came, more shots. Jacob crouched at his side, firing his own gun and sending out sporadic pulses of biotic energy. Shepard left cover as their numbers dwindled, ignoring the shots that came nearer as he shot some more down. He was running out of clips.

"Shepard, cool it. We need to be careful, who knows how many there are ahead." Jacob ran after him, pouring out cover fire as they neared the shuttle bay. "Look, we're coming with you, like it or not. So cool your damn jets and stop trying to get yourself shot."

He glanced back at the soldier, brows furrowing. "You're not coming with me."

"Yes, we are. We have to." Jacob sighed, shaking his head as Shepard walked ahead again. "Look, I give you some answers, you going to trust us?"

_Depends on the answers._ Shepard stopped, his eyes narrowing back at the man. "Where are we?"

"This is a facility dedicated to the Lazarus Project. The Project that brought you back to life."

His eyes widened as he felt every organ knot together within him. It was real. The explosion, the crushing, suffocating emptiness of the void. It was all real. "It wasn't a dream."

"No, Commander. The Normandy was attacked and destroyed. You were spaced. The Alliance declared you officially KIA. The Lazarus Project was able to recover your body and rebuild you, pretty much from scratch."

"But how…" He searched the floor, trying to figure it all out. It wasn't possible. "Everyone else... They were okay? You said they were safe. Was that the truth?"

Jacob nodded, not backing down as hostility returned to Shepard's voice. "Some of the crew didn't make it. Navigator Pressly was killed in an explosion. But you saved your pilot, Jeff Moreau, and Chief Williams was able to get the crewmen of the lower decks to escape pods."

_Ash. Oh, fuck._

Shepard fought the choking sensation in his throat. "Alright… if the Alliance says I'm dead, who brought me back?"

Jacob frowned, taking a cautious step back. He met Shepard's eyes and watched him, as if waiting for him to snap, to lash out somehow. Shepard felt himself tense.

"The Lazarus Project, under Miranda's leadership, was funded and controlled by Cerberus."


	2. Chapter 2

Kahoku.  
>Toombs.<br>Edolus.  
>Akuze.<p>

Cerberus killed them all. Tortured them, killed them, and got away with it.

His arm raised in an instant.

"Hey! Hold on –"

His finger squeezed and the shot fired. But something blue hit him. Something that ripped apart his organs, twisting and warping and sending him to the floor. There were voices shouting around him but he couldn't make them out. All he could hear was his heart - that strange new irregular beat pounding in his ears. Already sensitive flesh screamed as his vision faded and darkness took him once more.

_There was a sound. Low, distant, and treacherous – a steady beat, a constant warning of something lurking in the depths. Something waiting._

_**We know you, Shepard.**_

It was the irregularity of his heart that woke him. The too-perfect beat drove blood back to his brain, and he fought to open his eyes against the tearing sensation still ripping at his abdomen. It was when he tried to bring a hand forward to his face that he realized his wrists were bound. His eyes shot open.

_Oh, fuck this._

"He shot me, Miri."

"You're fine. Check his vitals."

"Hell no. He _shot _me. I'd say that's a pretty clear signal of how well he's going to cooperate."

There was a loud, irritated sigh. "Check his vitals, Jacob, and get him onto the shuttle so we can leave. The Illusive Man wants to talk to him, and he won't be able to if he's still unconscious."

"Maybe you shouldn't have knocked him out."

"Maybe you shouldn't have told him."

He heard them walk closer but he stayed still, propped against the wall with his hands behind his back. No weapon in sight, no realistic means of escape.

But he wasn't going to be a goddamned captive.

He drew in a breath, closed his eyes, and listened. Listened as one set of footsteps drew near, as they stopped before him. As someone leaned forward, their breath tickling his face. He heard the omnitool activate - no doubt assessing his condition – and he felt the fingers press to his neck to feel his pulse, steady and strange beneath them.

"He's fi- "

He slammed his head forward, and he heard Jacob's grunt of pain as the blow connected. Shepard's eyes shot open as the Cerberus soldier stumbled back. He folded his legs beneath him and stood in a quick sequence of agonizing movements, trying to ignore how the motion sent renewed pain shooting through him.

"Ah, fuck! Are you serious right now?" Jacob glared up at him, scrambling to get up and grasping a broken nose. His right shoulder hung a bit low, blood staining his black and white uniform around a freshly made bullet hole. Shepard tugged at his bound wrists, stepping towards Jacob to finish him off while he was still dazed. Taking out one injured man wouldn't be hard, then there would just be –

"Commander Shepard, I suggest you take a step back."

He whirled around and found her – every dark haired, ivory skinned, form-fitting cat-suited bit of her – and all he could see were those cold, cruel blue eyes. This was the woman that rebuilt him. The woman that changed him. That put him back together with lifeless, inorganic tech. She watched him without blinking, biotic energy spinning an aura around her, a pistol pointed at his chest. He stepped towards her.

She had made him an experiment, a science project to bring home to the monsters she served. He was done following her orders.

"I suggest you go fuck yourself."

Miranda's brow lifted fractionally, but her icy expression didn't change. She didn't lower her gun, didn't back down. She looked distinctly unimpressed. "Commander Shepard, any issues you have with us can be resolved elsewhere - this station is going down and I intend not to be on it. Unless you wish to re-experience zero-gravity without a proper suit, I suggest you come along."

"That's not happening."

"It isn't a choice." Her voice matched his cold tone. His teeth ground against each other. "You either come with us, or you die. And I've invested too much time into you to allow that to happen."

His brows came together as he studied her, the seriousness of her expression, the unwavering stance. He didn't know what to believe, if any of what Jacob had told him was true. Cerberus, by all rights, should want him dead. They shouldn't me plucking him out of space and rebuilding him. And coming back from the dead… It wasn't possible. None of it made sense. "What the hell do you want with me?"

"I'll give you any answers you wish _if_ you get into the shuttle."

He could just stay. Or try to get a hit on one of them again. He had already died, and it seemed preferable to being cuffed and stuck with Cerberus operatives. But the station was still burning around them, the wretched smell of smoke was beginning to drift closer, and he doubted she would wait much longer before simply forcing the issue. The determination in her words suggested she wasn't about to leave him behind, and those biotics of hers were powerful. His innards weren't left wanting for another dose - he preferred a conscious awareness of this fucked situation to the unknown. And they _were_ his only way out, his only way back.

His only way to her.

Shepard met Miranda's cold blue eyes for a few moments longer, then he turned from her, striding purposefully towards the shuttle door. He stood in front of it and waited. Jacob stepped up beside him first, keying the door to open.

"I'd appreciate it if you stopped making me look like a dumbass." The soldier's voice was a disgruntled murmur, and the door swung open to let them through. Shepard stepped in, sat in one of the passenger seats, and settled a silent glare on Jacob as the man sat across from him. Jacob simply sighed and shook his head, and the two waited as Miranda set their destination and shifted the shuttle into auto-pilot, before joining them and seating herself beside her accomplice.

"Now, before we go into anything else, I need to ask you a few questions to assess your current state. You recovered quickly from my attack, which seems to suggest the cybernetics are adjusting well to your body, but we still have to evaluate your psychological condition."

"Come on, Miranda. He took down those mechs without a problem, and then tried to move on to me. I think his condition's fine."

"It's been two years since the attack. The Illusive Man needs to know that the Commander's personality and memories are intact."

The blood in his veins was ice. His mouth opened to form words, but he couldn't, instead just shaking his head slowly. There was no way - no way that could be true. Miranda looked back at him, confusion momentarily cracking the ice as she took in his shock.

"Commander?"

"Did you…" His heart was somewhere in his stomach, sinking lower as he considered the possibility, considered what it meant. "Two years?"

Jacob frowned, looking oddly sympathetic despite the blood that still decorated his face. "Two years and twelve days."

_No. Fuck no._

Miranda's eyes narrowed. "The sooner we start, the sooner we can be done. Jacob, start with personal history."

"No. You're fucking lying. There's no way… It's not possible."

He couldn't wrap his head around it. Two years. Two years away from everything on a Cerberus operating table. Two years pronounced KIA. Two years Ash thought he was dead. Where was she? What was she doing? Who was she with? Had she…

_Two fucking years._

"It is, Commander, and as far as I can tell, we succeeded. Jacob, personal history."

"Miranda-" Jacob sighed as he was offered an icy look of his own. "Alright, Shepard. Records show you were a colony kid. Lost your family when some slavers hit Mindoir."

Shepard inhaled sharply as the bile rose in his throat, as the binds on his wrists seemed to sear his skin. His eyes found the floor as he struggled to keep the screams from his ears.

"You enlisted early, and not long after went on a survey mission to Akuze. You alone survived a thresher maw attack there. Do you remember that, Commander?"

His fists clenched behind his back, the strain pushing against his bonds. "Of course I fucking remember." Shepard's eyes rose and met Jacob's with ferocity. "Do you think that's the kind of thing you can forget?" He snarled, sitting forward. "Do you think I forgot who set that up? That your goddamned scientists are the ones that lured us there? That you pitted us against those fucking monsters just to see what happened, just like you did to those men on Edolus?" Jacob's eyes widened. "Do you think I forgot how Cerberus detained one of my squadmates for years? Kept him prisoner and tortured him?" The disbelief on the other man's face disgusted him. Of course he would try to deny it. "I heard them scream. All of them. I heard them die, smelled the stench of the acid eating at their corpses, and I couldn't do a thing about it. So yes, I fucking remember that."

"_You __**left **__us. You said you'd get us out. You told me we would make it out. You can shove your apologies and your promises up your ass. We trusted you, and you left. You left your team behind."_

Toombs' words pounded his mind as a silence hung over them. The two operatives looked at each other for a moment, before Jacob shook his head, his brow furrowing at her. "Satisfied?"

Miranda didn't flinch, she simply turned back to Shepard. "Almost. Any concerns you have with Cerberus can be taken up with the Illusive Man. We aren't kept aware of the activities of other cells. Now, something more recent," Shepard clenched his jaw. This woman was hatred incarnate. "Virmire. Do you remember the outcome?"

He stared at her, blood boiling and heart pounding in his ears. "You promised me answers."

"You will get them once I'm sure you have fully recovered. What happened on Virmire, Commander?"

Shepard steeled his gaze, putting everything he had into not screaming. Into keeping Saren and Sovereign and that goddamned planet out of his mind. Keeping Kaidan out of his mind.

"_It's been an honor, Shepard. Take care of her."_

"I made a choice." He stared back at her, hoping that, just this once, looks could kill.

"We're not judging your decisions, Commander. There was no good way out of that." Shepard turned his gaze to Jacob, and the soldier frowned again. He seemed too decent, too honest. He was a damn good actor.

"Alright. After the Battle of the Citadel, you suggested a candidate for the Citadel Council. Do you remember who that was?"

Shepard was suddenly sure that if Cerberus didn't kill him, if he somehow got out of this and made it back to the Citadel, Anderson would take him out himself. "Captain David Anderson." Two years. Two years away from the Alliance, two years leaving it all on his old mentor's plate. He was going to be pissed. "Is he a councilor now?"

Jacob nodded. "Yeah. Everyone says he preferred military life, though."

_Shit._

Miranda nodded. "Good. Now, there are some more tests we really should run – "

"Come on, Miranda." Jacob groaned. "He's proven he remembers everything. I can vouch for his combat skills myself. We're not going to find anything else out analyzing him like this."

Shepard's eyes narrowed at the soldier. _Why the hell is he defending me? _ Apparently, a shot in the shoulder wasn't enough for this guy.

Miranda didn't take her eyes off of him. She simply watched the commander, studying him shrewdly before nodding. "I suppose you're right." She glanced out the small window. "And it seems we're here. I'm afraid you'll have to discuss any questions you have with the Illusive Man. I'm sure he'll be able to answer them."

_And I'm sure that was your plan this whole damn time._

Shepard was silent as they landed. He kept his eyes planted on the two Cerberus operatives, doing all he could to focus on the pile of shit he was currently in rather than the one he would be climbing into later. He had no idea what he had missed, had no way of grasping what could have possibly happened while he was gone. He had to find his team, had to find Anderson. It could still be a lie - some mind game these terrorists were trying to play to unhinge him. If he found them, they could tell him the truth. He needed to find them.

He needed to find Ash.

But he needed to find a way out of this nightmare first. The shuttle connected to a docking tube and Miranda and Jacob stood, motioning for him to do the same. He remained seated.

"So, am I meeting this asshole with my hands tied behind my back?"

"No."

Jacob spluttered and Shepard blinked. That wasn't the answer he had been expecting. He eyed Miranda warily, but decided she probably just figured he wasn't about to brawl his way through the station. Without a weapon, assaulting two armed biotics would be pretty hopeless. But disarming them… The woman seemed to follow his thoughts.

"You will, however, be under guard. Any attack on this facility's personnel will be met with force, Commander. We do not wish you any harm. I hope you will remember that and treat this as any other diplomatic meeting."

_She's got to be fucking joking._

Shepard stood and followed them out into a large, white, clinical facility. Cerberus, it seemed, wasn't a big proponent of making a place feel homey. He gave Miranda a pointed look and turned, waiting as she disabled the tech cuffs. He flexed his wrists, turning back to the two and meeting Jacob's gaze. The soldier's hand was resting on his pistol - apparently not as confident as Miranda in allowing him free motion, or simply uneager to receive another blow. Shepard frowned, taking in the Cerberus personnel casting nervous, awed looks in their direction, and decided against it. He'd need a gun before he could even attempt an escape from this place. There were too many of them.

"Where is he?" He growled, and Miranda motioned him after her, her heels clacking in that ridiculous suit. Jacob trailed behind them and they rounded a corner, pausing before a door. Miranda turned back to face Shepard.

"You'll find him in here. Jacob and I will be waiting just outside."

Shepard's brow creased. "I'm meeting him alone?" That made absolutely no fucking sense.

"Yes, Commander." Her words were slow and pointed. "Will that be a problem?"

_Maybe for him. _"No." He grunted, and Miranda nodded, keying open the door and stepping aside. Shepard cast her one last, doubtful glance. This was too easy. They wouldn't just leave him alone with their leader. He hadn't been particularly subtle about his distaste for their organization, and this Illusive Ass was apparently responsible for the whole of it. So why were they allowing him free reign? What the hell did Cerberus want with him?

He needed to know. His curiosity pulled him into the dark hall, towards a large, open room. An empty room. _He must be real fucking Illusive._ A small, circular platform was elevated fractionally above the floor. It was ringed in light – the only light in the room – and it beckoned for him to board it. As both of his feet planted themselves on the circle, he understood why they were allowing him to 'meet' the man alone.

With a puff of a cigarette, the Illusive Man materialized, seated casually before a burning, dual-toned world. His hand dragged along his jaw in contemplation, not once blinking as he assessed his new visitor. He took another drag and exhaled. The man's eyes glowed unnaturally through the cloud of smoke that rose from his lips.

"Commander Shepard."

Shepard felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a long moment when the two men just stared at each other. It was an odd thing, assessing a man that wasn't really even there. But those strange, synthetic eyes pierced through the veil, cutting the distance between them and placing them together in the same room. It filled him with disgust. And an odd sense of trepidation.

The Illusive Man lifted a glass, took a slow drink, and returned his gaze to Shepard. "How are you feeling?"

"Cut the shit." Shepard's jaw set, his arms crossing as he met the man's eyes. "What the hell do you want with me?"

Another drag of the cigarette. "What I need is your help."

"That isn't likely."

"Being combative for the sake of it and holding old grudges will help no one in this fight, Shepard."

"A grudge doesn't really cover it, asshole. I'm not fighting for Cerberus."

"Not for, with. I didn't spend billions of credits to bring you back as a common soldier, Commander. You're a symbol, a beacon that was lit at a key point in our history. The people see you as a hero, a leader, a survivor – and we need you now more than ever." The Illusive Man's fingers came to rest along his jaw, stroking idly in contemplation. Shepard watched him with a growing unease. He wasn't particularly fond of the direction of this conversation. "Humanity is up against the single greatest threat of our brief existence."

There was a dull ringing in his ears as the beating came back, the low, steady pulse that seemed to come from somewhere deep. Somewhere dark. The unwelcome feeling of hopelessness stole over him as the beacon's vision flashed through his mind. Sovereign's voice whispered in the depths of his mind. They were still coming. "The Reapers."

"Good to see your memory is still intact." More smoke billowed from his nostrils. "Humanity is under attack, Commander."

Shepard's fists clenched. "What are they doing? Have they invaded?"

"Not yet, but it's only a matter of time. Entire colonies have been disappearing. Human colonies." The Illusive Man stood, approaching the Shepard's holograph, strange eyes focused intently on the Commander. "No one is willing to admit it, but we believe that it's someone working for the Reapers. Just as Saren and the geth aided Sovereign."

Shepard was silent, his teeth grinding against each other as the Illusive Man breathed out another puff of smoke. Like hell he was going to take this guy at his word. "What does Cerberus stand to gain from this? I didn't take you as a group of philanthropists."

"We are committed to the advancement and preservation of humanity. If the Reapers are targeting us, trying to wipe us out, Cerberus will stop them. If we wait for politicians or the Alliance to take action, no colonies will be left." The conviction in his voice, in his eyes, was enough to cause Shepard doubts. He definitely knew how to talk. "You've seen firsthand what the Reapers are capable of, Commander. There is no room for politics or indecision, no place to wait and see. Cerberus is taking action. We're at war, Shepard. It's time we fought back."

Shepard's brow furrowed as the Illusive Man took in another lungful of smoke. This man was a terrorist. His organization was responsible for the death of his squad, for the torture of fuck knew how many people. They were ruthless, willing to do anything for the sake of their experiments. For the 'advancement of humanity'. But his stomach roiled as he realized there was a definite possibility of truth to what he was saying – the Council had never been eager to act on the Reaper threat, and he knew from personal experience just how quick the Alliance tended to act in defense of their colonies. If they denied the Reapers existed, if neither of them were willing to do what needed to be done to protect their citizens…

How could he simply go back to it? To running around after geth, or whatever other boogeymen the Council cooked up to keep him occupied? How could he sit back and do nothing when he knew what was coming?

He wished in that moment he could reach across the void to pour a drink of his own.

"I need to talk to Anderson." And Ash. He needed to find Ash and his crew, his team. His family. He needed them to tell him it was real. That he was here. He needed her to prove he was alive.

The Illusive Man assessed him for a moment, nodding slowly as he did. "That won't be a problem. You're not a prisoner, Commander. I brought you back to do what you do best, not to police your actions. But I trust in speaking to him you'll come to understand that we are the only entity actively working to stop the Reapers. The only ones looking to find answers to where our colonists are going."

"So I'm free to go?" Shepard eyed him with suspicion. It was too easy. "You just spent billions of credits to bring me back to life, and now you're letting me loose after a little chat? I don't buy it. You could have had an army with the money you spent."

"I didn't need an army, Shepard. I needed you. As I said, you have influence, the ability to inspire. You're more than just a soldier, and I believe you will be key in our fight against the Reapers. You beat them once, Commander. That has to mean something to them." The Illusive Man turned, pacing back to his seat and settling down, crossing his legs casually. Shepard rolled his neck, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears. "Before you go, though, all I ask is that you see for yourself what's happening. Another colony - Freedom's Progress - was just hit. Go there, find what you can. There's a shuttle already waiting. When you return, you can decide whether or not you wish to proceed with us."

He hated that the man had been able to persuade him to consider it. His fists clenched at the smugness on the Illusive Man's face – the bastard knew he had won. Shepard grasped for an argument, for any solid reason to refuse, but it was hopeless. No matter how disgusted with himself he may be for working with these monsters, it would be worse if he didn't. If he didn't even look and let innocents continue to disappear, abandoned by those meant to protect them. If it was really happening, he had to know. He'd bring it back to Anderson then, make sure they were doing something about it. He was just doing this for the colonists. He wasn't betraying the Alliance doing that. Right?

_Fuck._

"Fine. I'll go. But don't count on me coming back and saying yes. I'm only going to see if I can believe a word you say." Shepard grumbled, fully realizing the emptiness of his words. The Illusive Man nodded.

"Good. Miranda and Jacob will brief you."

"You're fucking joking, right? I'm not working with them."

"She said you might be difficult to convince." The Illusive Man took another small drink, eyes surveying the Commander over the glass. "They know more about the previous attacks and will be able to help you find clues as to what's happening. They're professionals, Commander. You can trust them."

Shepard glared back. "Right." He growled, unconvinced, and crossed his arms again. "I'm not doing this unarmed."

"Of course. You'll be given access to your choice of weaponry. I do ask, however, that you don't use it on any of my operatives. Jacob is a more forgiving sort than most." Another puff of smoke, and the Illusive Man's hand trailed to a control on the arm of his chair. "Find what you can, Shepard. I brought you back. It's up to you to do the rest."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

"…_Shepard? Is that really you?"_

A hand ran through the too-short hair on his head. Tali. He had found Tali. A link to the life he thought he still had. Then she had left, left with a voice that told him she was still doubtful, that she still thought he was some monster Cerberus had pieced together. Some imposter. He couldn't blame her, of course. He had no way of being sure himself. But she had left, and took with her any hope that it would be the same.

The Illusive Man's image disappeared from the room once more, another of their little talks completed. The man was infuriatingly calm and had enough natural charisma to charm an elcor, and Shepard hated it. But what he hated more was that he was right. It was real. Even Cerberus couldn't pull off that elaborate of a hoax. An entire colony, disappeared. Their belongings strewn but not destroyed, the buildings still standing. It wasn't like Mindoir, where the slavers had taken the people and razed his home to send a message to the Alliance. This was different – organized, mechanical. A quick, precise abduction. He was sickeningly reminded of a cattle round up.

Veetor's surveillance images of the Collectors and their swarms only cemented it. Those creatures hauling paralyzed colonists away without a backwards glance. This wasn't the work of pirates or mercenaries. No slavers would bother with these tactics. No known race had access to that sort of technology. This was more.

This was the Reapers.

So he had agreed to it. Agreed to working with Cerberus, with the people he had hunted, the same people he thought deserved nothing short of a bullet to the head. He was disgusted with himself, with this course of action. He toyed with the idea of leaving, giving the Illusive Man a big 'fuck you' and heading on his way. But it wasn't like he had some home to go to. He knew he'd be more tied down back on the Citadel than here, and the Alliance would contain him until they knew he wasn't Cerberus' version of Frankenstein.

And he couldn't afford to be tied down, not now. He needed to help these people. So he would just stay here, hate himself, and deal with Cerberus later. They weren't completely useless, after all. He had been offered resources, dossiers to the most impressive and diverse group of warriors, thieves, mercenaries, and assassins in the universe. He apparently had a ship again. A crew he could 'trust'. But it wouldn't be his crew. It wasn't his ship. And the Illusive Man had explained, in agonizing detail, how fruitless it would be to try and track down his former squad. They had moved on.

But he hadn't. He couldn't. It didn't feel like two years to him. It felt like passing out after too much tequila. Everything was painful and fuzzy, his mind reeling with the things that had apparently happened in a different life. A life where she was still there, arguing with him about meeting her family, cuffing him on the side of the head when he got too serious. What if she had moved on? What if he found her, and she left like Tali did? How the hell was he supposed to handle that? How could he explain to her what had happened? That he still needed her with him?

That he still needed her to breath?

The door opened behind him, bringing him from his thoughts, from the pounding and whispers in his head that hadn't stopped since Freedom's Progress. He didn't turn. He just waited, staring at the place where the Illusive Man once sat. It would be Miranda, probably, summoned to bring him to his new ship. The woman was always so goddamn professional.

"Hey, Shepard. Just like old times, huh?"

Shepard's jaw dropped, his heart stilling as he turned to find Joker, the pilot giving him the same cocky grin he always did. He just stood there and gaped.

"Damn, Shepard. You lose the ability to speak? They said you were good, but you still look pretty rough. You all there?"

He started moving towards his pilot, his steps slow and unsteady. Joker wasn't turning away, wasn't looking at him like he was some zombie. He just stood there with that same easy smile. He was the same. He was a constant. A link to everything he had lost.

"Alright, well, that's cool. You never talked much anyways." Joker's voice wavered a bit as the commander stepped closer. "I hope you're not mad or anything. About getting spaced and all that. Looking back, it was probably a bad call trying to save my ass. You're not mad, right?" Shepard stopped in front of him, his brow furrowing as he glanced over the small pilot. "Shepard?"

It seemed like the only thing to do, the only way to express how goddamn glad he was to know something hadn't changed. His arms wrapped Joker in a bear hug, the pilot grunting in surprise and probably a little pain as he slapped his back.

"Christ, what did they do to you? You are not a hugger. I'm breakable, remember?" Shepard stepped back with a smirk and Joker gaped at him, rubbing his crushed arms. "Did they give you the soul of a teddy bear or something? Silent but loveable?"

Shepard snorted. "Fuck you."

"And there he is. Welcome back, Commander. I was worried for a moment there. Come on, you have to see her." Joker turned, leading the way out of the room and down a hall.

"So, is this where you tell me you were a Cerberus sleeper agent the whole time?"

"Please. As if I'm that subtle." Joker shook his head. "It all fell apart without you. The team never got back together. Everything you stirred up, the Council just wanted it gone. The records were sealed and I was grounded. Big bunch of bullshit." Joker stopped as they approached a row of windows, the space beyond darkened. "The Alliance took away the only thing that mattered to me. Damn right I joined Cerberus."

Shepard arched a brow. "But you saw what they did. How can you trust these assholes?"

"Hey, I don't see you trying to run off. Heard what you did to Jacob, though. Tried to warn them you weren't real fond of their little club." Joker shrugged, grinning. "They're not all bad. Saved your life. Let me fly." The lights beyond the windowed wall began to turn on, illuminating a familiar silhouette. "And there's this." Joker's grin was huge, looking at the ship like a parent might their child. "God, she's beautiful, isn't she? They just told me last night."

Shepard gave a grunt of appreciation. "He wasn't kidding about providing a ship."

The pilot laughed. "Good to be home, isn't it, Shepard?"

He couldn't help the small smile that played on his lips. He might have lost almost everything, but he had this. His eyes took in the ship, so similar to its predecessor, if only significantly larger. It really was beautiful – and it was his.

"I guess we'll have to give her a name."

xxxxxxxxx

He inhaled slowly and brought the scope to his eye. There were five. No problem at the base, but here, tangled in with civilians… It would be a bad call. Better to tail them, take high ground and wait for them to break from the herds stumbling in and out of Afterlife. Shooting around a hostage was one thing – shooting around dozens of drunken, stumbling idiots was another. And he doubted he'd have anybody to remark on his good marksmanship this time.

Garrus sighed, a thin, quiet exhale that crept out between pointed teeth. Two years. Two years since he followed the lead that brought him to Dr. Michel's clinic, two years since Saren, two years since Sovereign. Two years since the Normandy. Since Shepard. It felt like another life. He pulled back from the scope and eyed the rifle. Two years, and this was all he had to remind him he was ever a part of it.

Loud footsteps clambered towards him, and he sighed. They really needed to work on stealth.

"Hey, Archie, you coming back soon?" Butler's voice was anything but subtle. Garrus' mandibles fluttered in annoyance and he glared back at the human. He really was too loud for someone so small. "Sidonis said he's looking for you, has something he needs to show you or some shit like that. Sent me here to tell you to meet him across town somewhere."

"Real descriptive there, Butler."

"Hey, don't get your panties all in a bunch. I'm just the messenger. Here, I got your location for you." His omnitool waved and Garrus' visor lit with a destination. Butler gave a little bow, starting to turn back. "Me and the guys will hold down home base while you take care of your favorite little princess." The engineer grinned as Garrus' eyes darkened in annoyance. "Oh, come on. That guy always has something wrong. Not my fault you're stupid enough to feed into it. See ya later, Archman!"

With a wave over his shoulder, the man was off, not deigning to check his surroundings for threats as he climbed back down into Omega's alleyways. Garrus sighed in frustration, wondering briefly if recklessness was a human thing, or if he had just been lucky enough to meet the more impulsive members of the species.

_Damn, I sound like Dad._

He stood, shaking the thought from his head. Life as a vigilante on Omega was definitely not his father's style. He had left his shadow when he handed in his resignation to C-Sec, when he left the Spectre program. He had left it all behind – all the red tape, all the damn restrictions telling him what to do and how to do it. But he had also left his family. His friends. He hadn't even talked to Tali for months now. Their…friendship was hard to maintain. He couldn't tell her where he was, and she was busy with the fleet. Without the Normandy, without Shepard… Nothing held them together.

The turian wandered past a couple of drunk vorcha, doing his best to ignore the smell that seemed to permeate every inch of the station. He thought he'd get used to it, that after this long he'd know how to ignore it. But it was always there. A sensory reminder of exactly the kind of shithole Omega was. His eyes found the sign indicating his entrance to the Kenzo District, and he brought his talon to his ear.

"Sidonis, I'm here. What's your location?"

There was silence, and Garrus sighed, keen eyes glancing around the abandoned halls for a trace of the other turian. He tried again to hail him. Nothing. His irritation grew as he paced forward, trying to figure out exactly what was significant about this location. Sidonis was a good guy, always ready to help, but Butler had a point - there was always something. The turian was nervous, paranoid even, and he used Garrus as some kind of safety net from mercs that got too close. Realistically, this probably wasn't the best career choice for him, but they needed all the help they could get in cleaning up these streets. And Sidonis was a damn good tactician.

A third hail went unanswered and he felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. Sidonis may be paranoid, but he didn't ignore the team. A fourth hail, and Garrus began to worry. What if he'd been found out? He had talked the team into pushing farther out, taking back more territory from Omega's gangs. He could have been caught. He raised his talons to try again, but his visor lit up with an incoming message.

"Archangel, come in!"

There was desperation in Butler's voice, a fear he didn't associate with the easygoing man. Something boomed in the background.

"I hear you. What's going on?" Nothing. "Butler, do you copy?"

Garrus ran as his only answer was static.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks everyone for the reviews so far! It's great to get some good criticism.  
>For those of you concerned about Jacob – don't worry. He's a good guy. Shepard will realize it eventually.<br>Next chapter will be up soon, with a bit more action.  
>Enjoy!<strong>

**xxxxxx**

_ Subject: Meet me?_

_Ash_,

_I really hope you haven't changed your extranet address._

_I don't know where to start, what to say… I know this makes no sense. I know you have no reason to believe this is real or that this is even me - but I'm alive. I'm alive, and I'm so, so sorry.  
>I need to see you. I'll be on the Citadel in a few weeks. I can explain everything then. Remember that bar where you punched out that reporter? I think it should still be there. I'll let you know when I'm close and wait for you.<em>

_Please come._

_I love you._

_Owen_

"Commander, Miranda was hoping to talk to you when you had a moment."

Shepard's grip tightened on his desk. It seemed that the yeoman's voice never really lost that whole sunshine-rainbows thing. His eyes didn't leave the terminal in front of him, reading over the message for what had to be the twentieth time since he had sent it. It was pathetic, but he was feeling a little bit pathetic currently. His finger traced one of the angry red scars on his jaw.

"Set course for Omega."

"Of course, Commander." Chambers chimed as he turned away from the galaxy map, grabbing a datapad and starting to pick his way through the mass of black-and-white clad zombies towards the cockpit. "Commander, Miranda- "

"Is not in command of this ship, Chambers. I'll see her later. If she has an emergency, she can easily ride that fucking elevator up to see me."

The yeoman simply smiled a sad, pitying smile. A smile he had received quite a few times from various crewmembers. A smile that made him think they had all been told to react to his 'outbursts' with patience and sympathy, like one might react to inappropriate behavior by the mentally ill. Shepard's jaw clenched angrily. It was constant. The cheerful suggestions, the unwelcome advice. Cerberus, on top of their less savory methods, seemed to be keen on killing with kindness. His only respite was having Joker and Chakwas here with him, links to a lost life, people to ensure him that no, he hadn't completely lost his mind. Yet.

The pilot's hands were floating lazily over his controls, seemingly invested in doing a whole lot of nothing, before he turned in surprise as Shepard collapsed into the copilot's seat. "Oh, no you don't. You hide out here, they come looking for you. I already have to deal with the talking computer, I don't need the ice queen on my back too." Shepard didn't answer. He just looked down at the datapad in his hand, scrolling through various articles with indifference. "Can't you just hang out in the AI core again? Or engineering? Or anywhere but here? I mean, you do have a pretty sweet loft up there."

"You know I'd miss your company, Joker." Shepard muttered drily, scrolling lazily over another article.

Joker snorted. "Right. Well, they come to find you, I'm selling you out. What are you even doing? We're off to Omega, right? Shouldn't you be working on your street rep or something?"

He held up the datapad and gestured towards it with a smirk. "Conspiracy theories about my death."

"Right. Cheerful stuff." The pilot groaned, shaking his head. "My favorite was you getting taken out by the volus mob."

Shepard chuckled briefly, but stopped abruptly as he found a vid that made his heart lurch. Joker gave him a curious glance as he set it to play on the display before him.

"Oh, shit, Shepard, you don't need to watch that."

He just let it play, Anderson's voice sounding through the cockpit. Talking about him. "Pretty sure I don't know all those people. Who are they?"

"Who knows? Council made it into a big show."

He tried to ignore the look of complete loss in his old mentor's eyes. "You guys weren't invited?"

"No, we're there. They lined us up on the stage like a bunch of show pigs. Just can't see us from that angle." Joker muttered, his voice strangely quiet. "Really, Shepard, you don't need to watch that."

But he did. It was morbid, he knew, but it wasn't everyday someone got to sit and watch their own funeral.

"_It is my plea to all of you that we do not forget his fight. That we remember Commander Owen Shepard in the only way he would want to be remembered – by fighting for our futures, for our freedoms, for the chance at something better." Anderson's eyes had left the crowd and now pinned the three councilmembers near him with a challenging glare. "By uniting our forces against the only enemy we should concern ourselves with: the Reapers."_

Well, at least Anderson had tried. The murmurs of disbelief that fluttered through the crowd seemed to be a pretty good indication of what the man had gone through these past few years in trying to convince them. Guilt prickled the commander's scalp. He had tried to contact the captain, but the only response he received was one requesting they meet on the Citadel. But instead of taking him up on it immediately, here he was, ass-deep in the Terminus Systems with his crew of cheerful terrorists. Because he had to focus on this mission, because Anderson was right – the only thing that mattered was fighting the Reapers. The Collectors. He sighed, a hand running over his hair. He'd see him soon. Once he was done with Omega.

Shepard rolled his eyes as Councilor Tevos approached the podium with a simpering look, silencing Anderson and addressing the crowd. She did an excellent job of crediting the Council to his successes and placating humanity. His jaw clenched as she placed the blame of the Citadel attack wholly on Saren, dismissing the Reapers as well as Anderson's rallying cry. Fucking politicians. He glanced away from the screen and back to Joker. "This was a goddamn joke."

The helmsman grunted, unusually silent and still eyeing the screen. Shepard quirked a brow in question until her voice echoed through the cockpit, pulling his eyes back to the vid.

"_No!" Her voice rang over the assembled crowd as she strode towards the asari, fists balled in defiance. "We can't just sit back and do nothing! He didn't save all of your asses so you could throw your lives away! We have to prepare, we have to – "_

The camera was filming from another angle, one showing her, showing all of them. They looked broken. Ash looked exhausted, her hair disheveled and eyes rimmed in red, but they still shined with that same stubborn fire. She was still fighting. His chest tightened painfully.

"Ah, shit." Joker muttered, taking in Shepard's crestfallen expression. "I told you, you shouldn't be watching that."

Shepard's hand ran through his too-short hair. Watching her struggle like this, watching her fight them while looking so pained… _Fuck._ He couldn't tear his eyes away from her as she left the stage, hundreds of eyes following her, rage and hurt and hopelessness written all over her features.

He wasn't there for it. He wasn't there for her. He had left her behind.

"Where is she, Joker?"

"Look, I told you before, I don't know." The pilot sighed, rubbing his face exasperatedly as Shepard glared at him. "Ashley didn't really want anything to do with us after it. You see me there?" He gestured back at the vid, where he sat slumped with a black-and-blue face. "She did that after I tried apologizing for, you know, getting you spaced. She wasn't feeling real forgiving that day."

Shepard frowned. "Joker…"

He was waved off. "We thought she went off the deep end for a while – she wasn't talking to anyone or going anywhere. But after the funeral, she just suited up and left. No goodbyes, no anything. I guess she got on some classified assignments or something. Super-secret shit. Must have been nice, the Alliance letting her keep her job." Joker grumbled bitterly. "Never heard from her after that, never saw her. Without you… You held it together, Shepard. She was just…done, I guess." The pilot glanced at him again, seeming to debate whether or not he wanted to say more. Shepard's hands had come up to his temples, pressing idly in an attempt to stop the goddamn ringing in his ears. "Look, I know you want to find her, and I get that. You two had a thing and everything." Shepard met the pilot's gaze slowly, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Okay, maybe more than a thing. That's cool. But… you know, two years is a long time. So maybe… You know what, never mind. You're getting your angry face. No more sage advice from me."

"Maybe what, Joker? You think I should just give up on finding her?" His voice was low, rumbling deep in his chest as he glared at the pilot, the man's hands raised in surrender.

"Hey, I didn't say it. Just forget it, okay? I didn't say a word."

He wasn't going to give up on her. He would keep trying to contact her, trying to find her. He needed her, and she… _Fuck_. Shepard's hand ran over his hair as he hoped it wasn't too late. Too late for her to forgive him for breaking the only promise she had asked him to make. The commander stood quickly, angry and lost and wanting. Wanting for her voice, her laugh, her touch. For those warm brown eyes and full lips.

Fuck Joker. Like hell he was going to give up on her.

"EDI."

"Yes, Commander?" The AI's presence was announced officially by the appearance of her pawn-shaped avatar to the pilot's left. Joker offered it a glare.

"Be sure to verbally update Mr. Moreau on all space weather changes until we reach our destination."

"Yes, Commander."

"Oh, come on! That's cold, Shepard. I didn't mean it, really."

"Mr. Moreau, a proton storm is developing in the cluster ahead."

"Really? You're really going to do it?" The pilot's irritated groan rang through the ship.

"Yes, Mr. Moreau."

Another groan, and Shepard boarded the elevator. EDI might be a Cerberus-built AI who had a primary objective of spying on him, but she was damn useful.

"Commander, should I let Miranda know you'll be in your quarters?"

He just glared at Chambers, the redhead smiling back at him, looking far too self-satisfied as he keyed the elevator to bring him to the cargo bay. Shepard's head rolled back to fall against the wall as the door closed, allowing himself a slow, heavy breath. His brain was pounding with the constant strain of being watched, being followed - by Miranda, Chambers, the crew. Hell, even the damn ship had a mind of its own. A mind that reported directly to the Illusive Man. His hand ran through his hair and he closed his eyes with a sigh.

_How the fuck did I get here?_

He pushed back against the ringing in his ears - the constant, irritating noise that seemed to be as much a part of this new body as the eerie, semi-luminescent scars. The scars that replaced his own. Mindoir and Akuze were no longer written on his body, erased by new dermal implants and cybernetics when Miranda pieced him back together. But despite Cerberus' ability to erase any physical reminders, he still had the same dreams, still felt the same guilt. Hell, he even still found himself taking a ride down to the cargo bay to punch the shit out of a bag until he was exhausted enough to force himself to sleep. Just the same as before.

He had been left with the scars from two lifetimes, and he still had no idea how to cope. At least, not without her. Or alcohol.

_Goddamn Cerberus and their empty fucking bar._

The door opened and he pushed himself off the wall, flexing his fists as he strode towards the little alcove that had been dedicated to various lifting and exercise equipment. He had no idea whose it was. He hadn't bothered asking, figuring it was sort of a community deal and he didn't really give a shit anyways. But it was revealed to him as he rounded the corner and found Jacob on a mat, curling up and glancing at him with a mirrored expression of surprise.

Shepard paused, frowning at the punching bag, then back at the Cerberus operative on the ground. _Shit. _He hadn't really talked to the man since they boarded the Normandy. There wasn't really a reason to acknowledge the fact he had shot him – he wasn't sorry for it, even if Jacob was exceedingly less annoying than his peers. "Taylor."

"Shepard." Jacob's tone was just as frank, bordering on cold. Shepard ignored it. He couldn't blame him for holding a grudge.

"I take it this is yours then?" He made a vague gesture to the equipment.

"Yeah." Jacob stood, crossing Shepard's path to grab some weights. "I take it you're the one who's been using it?"

"Yeah."

A raised brow and a shrug, and Jacob started right into lifting, apparently giving about as many shits as Shepard. "That's cool." And that was it.

Shepard's brow creased, not used to this ease of communication from the others onboard, but shrugged it off and gave a grudgingly grateful nod in the operative's direction before stepping towards the bag. His arms raised and his stance set in that familiar tense position, shoulders rolled back and feet planted. His fist lashed out with the first strike and he fell into the usual, comforting rhythm. He let himself dissolve into the pounding of his heart, the exertion, trying to focus on the way his hands struck his target rather than the ringing in his ears.

Or how broken she had looked in that vid.

He hit the bag harder. It lasted a while. It seemed that on top of new scars, Cerberus had gone ahead and made some improvements. Things that had once tired him took a little less effort. The tech that littered body allowed him to heal faster, to push harder. To exactly what extent, he had no clue, but he knew Miranda deemed him a success. She chose to ignore the sickening scars and flat-out denied the possibility of the ringing in his ears being a side effect.

After that, he had decided against telling her and Chakwas about the low, beating pulse that played in his ears when he edged into sleep. About the darkness, and Sovereign's still menacing voice. Hearing things was generally bad. And it was a dream. _Just a fucking dream._

His hand came hard against the bag and he stopped as he heard something snap. His knuckles were red, but not bloody, not broken. He refocused his eyes on the bag to find it hanging lopsided.

"Damn. Take it easy. How'd you even manage that?" Jacob snorted behind him. "Those straps are supposed to be built to last."

Shepard inspected the damage, rubbing his bruised knuckles. "I'll get you some new ones." He muttered. _Or, the Illusive Man will._

"No rush. That's not really my thing anyway. I want to work on hand-to-hand, I do it for real." There wasn't smugness in the soldier's voice, just the same matter-of-fact quality Shepard was beginning to appreciate. At least one of the Cerberus crew didn't make him want to hide just so he could get some quiet. "You spar?"

"Yeah." He grabbed a towel off a nearby pile, wiping his face clean and sitting on a bench. "Been a while. Obviously. The last decent fight I had was with a turian. He was goddamn fast." Shepard muttered and rubbed at the scruff developing on his jaw. He had no idea why he was talking, why he had decided it was necessary to bring up Garrus. The memories hurt. But talking about them… They seemed more real. "Told me I fought like a krogan. Still not sure if that was a compliment or not." He pushed back sweat-damp hair and his heart rate began to wind down as he looked back at the soldier.

Jacob grinned. "I can see what he meant, if you treat you opponents like you did that bag. You don't hold shit back, that's for sure." He snorted, giving a small shake of his head. "Of course, probably should have known that already. Shoot first, ask questions later. That's your style, right?"

There wasn't any venom to the operative's voice, just an easygoing sort of amusement and surprising insight. Shepard frowned. He couldn't tell if Jacob was that full of bullshit or simply way too good a guy to be a part of Cerberus. "Yeah, well, it usually works for me." He growled and stood, suddenly uncomfortable. It was a hell of a lot easier hating them when they acted like monsters. Not…this. Not when they seemed almost human. He started back towards the elevator, but paused, a nagging guilt in the pit of his stomach. Shepard stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "You fit for duty?" The question seemed preferable to asking him if he was okay.

"What?" Jacob blinked at him, before he realized the commander's meaning. "Oh, yeah. Doc made quick work of the shoulder. I'm ready for action."

Shepard nodded and turned back to board the lift. "We'll hit Omega soon. Be ready to go."

"Yes, sir."


	5. Chapter 5

One. Two. Three?

He wasn't sure if the third was actually his doing, but he sure as hell was going to take credit for it. The mercs fell dead and he loaded another round, heaving out an exhausted breath. There were more coming. There was always more coming.

He never found Sidonis. The rest of his team lay dead around him – either blown apart in the initial blast, or left to bleed while the gangs regrouped. He had made it back in time to see his friends die, to hear their final words, to know that the timing and convenience of Sidonis' absence could only mean they had all been betrayed. Mierin had been the last to go. She held out with him as long as she could before slipping away, leaving him alone to cover their bodies and barricade the doors.

The mercenaries started their next assault as soon as they realized they had missed him. It made sense. It would have been him they wanted – the infamous Archangel, righter of wrongs on Omega. He was the one that pushed the team further, made them hit harder and cut off the gangs from their suppliers. He was the one that started it. He would be the one they wanted, because it was his fault.

His, and Sidonis'.

A merc – Blue Sun, by the look of him – poked his head around a corner to look down the bridge. Garrus took the shot without hesitation. Another body littered the walkway to his base, and he glanced towards the dwindling stockpile of ammunition lined on a nearby wall. Food. Ammo. Rest. Time.

There was a long list of things he was running short on.

Of course, how could it have ended any differently? Omega wasn't a place you could clean up. Months of hitting the gangs at every turn and he'd barely made a dent into their operations. The station was a mass of depravity, thriving off of the misfortune of the weak and the innocent. The good in people inevitably died here, replaced by lust, or greed, or pride. After all, on Omega, it was either the good in you that died, or you simply did.

He wasn't sure anymore why he had thought he could make a difference – he couldn't bring justice to a place with no sense of right and wrong. It was simply survival here. Survival driving these gangs, driving him. Probably survival that had driven Sidonis to sell out his team. His talons dug into the old rifle. They had all warned him, told him the other turian was too nervous, too flighty - that Sidonis would be likely to talk if he was ever caught. But he ignored it, letting him come along, trusting him with their plans, with their base. He ignored his better judgment. He ignored his duty. He ignored his father's constant advice: to do the right thing, even if it's difficult. Instead of protecting his people, instead of doing what was right, he chose to allow Sidonis in. He let the turian get close enough to betray him, because it would have been too difficult to live with if he had sent him away.

_Guess that came back to bite me in the ass, huh, Dad?_

More mercs were massing on the other side of the bridge, wearing armor with what looked to be the insignias every main gang on Omega. They were planning something, scuttling here and there, hiding like rats looking for a way in. Occasionally, an exceptionally horrible sniper would attempt a shot at him. He'd reward them with a bullet through the throat. Then more would come.

_Spirits, where do they get these idiots?_

The Blue Suns, Blood Pack, and Eclipse, teaming up to take down one half-starved, half-mad vigilante. His mandibles fluttered in weak, dark amusement. At least he'd go out in style.

A talon raised to his helmet, activating his comm, and the familiar sound of tech attempting to make a link whirred in his ear. Finally, a familiar voice greeted him with grudging surprise.

"Garrus? Is that you?"

"Hey, Dad."

xxxxxxxxx

He was on fire. Literally.

Smoke and flames rose around him, burning and choking and pissing him off. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He fired off rounds at the two vorcha, his back against a wall, wondering who the hell had let these gremlins run around with flamethrowers. "Jacob!"

"On it!"

One of the little demons flew back as Jacob released a biotic pull, giving him a chance to roll behind the second, reloading his pistol and shooting at the gas tank on its back. His shields were fizzling uselessly as the vorcha realized its predicament and screamed, flailing in an attempt to escape the bomb now strapped to its back. "Yeah, let's see how_ you_ like it, you son of a bitch." The creature spun around and darted towards him, attracted by the noise and apparently now hell-bent on taking Shepard down with him. _Shit._ Shepard, pride in tow, ran his ass off down the corridor. "Miranda, overload!"

There was a blast, a sickening splat against his back, and he was pummeled forward by the force of the explosion.

"Commander, you good?" Jacob's voice called out as he rolled over, trying to ignore the slight squelching noise as he did. He raised an arm and gave a lazy wave of confirmation before groaning and heaving himself to his feet.

"Where are the damn fan controls?" Shepard growled, glancing around the large room, finally empty of any opposition. His eyes found a control room at the far end of one corridor, and he moved towards it, trying to ignore the splint in his side. Krogan and vorcha. Viscious, brutal, and regenerative. _This salarian had better be fucking worth it. _Footsteps followed him quickly.

"So, this guy knows how to keep away the swarms?"

"Professor Solus will likely be able to find a way once we allow him a chance to work with the samples we've collected."

Shepard glanced at Miranda, the woman somehow unscathed by their journey into the quarantine zone despite how ridiculously vulnerable both operatives were in their simple Cerberus-issue jumpsuits. They had both been useful, of course, providing biotic support and cover fire while he scoped out the larger targets. Jacob was pretty damn efficient with that assault rifle, too. But when push came to shove, he had found himself being the one taking point. It was an unfamiliar position. Rifles were something to be used at a distance – deadly and accurate. Up close, they were clumsy and slow. And pistols weren't very effective against a charging krogan.

They had some improvements to make on their teamwork.

"But he doesn't have a way now?" The commander grumbled.

And on their communication.

"No, Commander." Miranda still held that ever-present look of disdain for him. A look that told him she thought he had the mental capacity of a three year old. Shepard glared back at her, but tore his eyes away to assess the fan controls. A particularly inviting green button drew his attention, and he pressed it without hesitation. There was a promising whirr as they came online.

"So, we're traipsing around Omega, curing a plague, for a maybe?" He walked past her, back into the main room and towards the exit. The cure was injected, the fans on to trigger dispersal – their work was done here. All that was left was fetching the cracked out salarian. "Not that I wouldn't do it out of the goodness of my heart, but I was under the impression we 'had no time to waste on frivolities.'" Shepard bit out the words, feeling more than a little bitter. They were a repetition of the argument she had used against him when she heard of his intention to travel to the Citadel - his intention to look for Ash.

Miranda didn't flinch. "Professor Solus is the foremost scientist in his field. If anyone can find a way, it's him. He is essential to our success."

He rolled his eyes but didn't say more, having enjoyed the reprieve from the constant questioning since they started getting shot at. The 'are you sure?'s and 'do you really think?'s were getting old. The woman had seemed like she was finally placated when he agreed to assist the salarian scientist before the mercenary or that vigilante merc-killer. Even though that guy had actually sounded useful - and like he was about to die. But despite that, despite that Solus had time, had protection, Miranda had still insisted that the scientist should come first. She was maddening.

He had been awarded with a congratulations on his ability to reason after he gave in. Shepard had in turn awarded her with a few of his favorite words.

They reached Solus' clinic without any difficulty, passing by the bodies of plague victims and the mercenaries who had prayed upon them. Shepard's nose wrinkled slightly. Omega was, without a doubt, a gigantic shithole. The clinic workers eyed them warily but did nothing to stop them as they walked back towards the geneticist's main workroom. He could hear the salarian babbling as they neared it, his head already splitting with the constant stream of incomprehensible thought that flowed from Mordin's mouth. Shepard's fists clenched and he rounded the corner, and large, amphibious eyes found him immediately.

"Environmental systems engaged. Airborne viral levels dropping. Patients improving. Vorcha retreating. Well done, Shepard. Thank you." The salarian's words sounded like one giant run-on sentence. Shepard wondered how he managed to talk that much without taking a breath.

"And thank you from me. Those batarians would have killed me." Mordin's young, human assistant shifted nervously, avoiding eye contact and fidgeting with his hands. Shepard grimaced.

"Yes, they would have."

Daniel fidgeted some more. "For a second there, I thought you were going to shoot them. Even after they let me go."

His fists clenched tighter, but he didn't bother with a reply. There was no point in explaining his actions. He had wanted them dead, but he had given his word. That still had to mean something - even now. Shepard turned away from the assistant, his green eyes finding the salarian once more. "You'll join us to fight the Collectors, then?"

There was a narrowing of eyes, an assessment, then Solus gave a thin-lipped smile and a nod. "Yes. Unexpected to be working with Cerberus. Many surprises. Just need to finish up here at the clinic. Won't take long. Meet you at your ship." A sharp inhale and Shepard could stop guessing when he stopped to take a breath. "Looking forward to it."

The commander nodded. "We have a few more recruits to pick up. We'll meet you on the Normandy." He started to turn, but Mordin was apparently not quite finished. The salarian seemed to lack a sense of boundaries as he scanned Shepard with his omnitool, getting up close and personal, muttering something about synthetic flesh and damaged shields.

"Armor showing signs of damage. Potential disruption of shields. Recommend repair." Apparently intending to do the repair himself, the scientist waved his omnitool again, showcasing a knowledge of tech as well as genetics as he reprogrammed Shepard's faulty shields_. _"Temporary. Will complete work on ship, with access to equipment. Avoid further exposure to fire. Human flesh known to be flammable."

Shepard stared. "Right." He muttered, taking a few steps back. Solus gave him another nod and walked away without another word, leaving the commander standing and wondering what the hell had just happened. He decided that the salarian probably would turn out to be useful after all, and he turned and headed towards the exit, Jacob and Miranda in tow.

"His dossier mentioned he was a little… eccentric."

"I think that's an understatement." Shepard glanced at Jacob as the soldier caught up to him, matching his stride. The soldier snorted.

"We going after Archangel, then?"

Shepard nodded. "If he's still there." He allowed himself a quick glare at Miranda. She ignored him. "Aria said he was pinned down hours ago, who knows if he's lasted. The merc – Zoey, Zander –"

"Zaeed." Miranda supplied, as irritated as ever.

"Whatever. He's meeting us at the skycar lot with the rest of the freelancers. Apparently has connections with a few of the gangs, can get us a better clue of what the hell is going on."

Jacob frowned. "You sure we can trust him?"

Shepard shrugged, nodding as the passed the turian sentry guarding the quarantine zone. Apparently, word of the cure had spread fast, because they met no protest on their way out. "No. But we're paying him. That counts for something with those assholes." He murmured, sidestepping a few vorcha huddled in an alley. "Either way, pitting him against some old allies will be a good way to see just how loyal he is to his employers. And if he's stupid enough to try and help them, there's always the merc-killer we happen to be picking up. " He smirked and glanced towards Jacob and the soldier gave a doubtful nod. Shepard knew one thing for goddamn certain – he could trust this merc just as much as the two Cerberus operatives. Despite the dwindling dislike he had for Jacob, Miranda still grated his nerves and the Illusive Man did nothing to bolster his confidence. At least with a mercenary, he knew where he stood.

They walked in silence the rest of the way, listening to the bustle of Omega's markets, to the shrieks of angry vorcha and the grinding, guttural words of batarians. A familiar disgust roiled in his stomach as he stared at the many four-eyed faces. He tried again to remind himself that these were people too. It was hard to do with the bile that burned his throat.

_Fuck this place._

"About goddamn time." Zaeed Massani's low, raspy voice greeted them as they approached the skycar lot. "I've been sitting here with my bloody thumb up my ass for hours. Your guy is going to be half in the ground before we get there." The mercenary was a man after his own heart. Shepard opened the car door and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Then get your ass in the car. We're going now."

Zaeed snorted, muttering some insult as he climbed in. "You're goddamn lucky your man is paying me so well." He slammed his door, and Shepard sped off, ignoring the expletives the mercenary shouted as he did.

He glided the car through the station's skyways, reveling in the feel of it - the freedom, the control. His second coming, so far, had been a blur - a constant, dizzying string of must-dos with little chance to stop and grasp the reality of actually having a second chance at life. His first life, admittedly, had been mostly shit. Ash had been the brightest part - a resting place at the end of an exhausting journey - but then he had died. He wasn't going to make the same mistake. He would take whatever light he could get in this life. He would find her. He would enjoy this. At least until one of them managed to ruin it.

"Commander, we've reached our destination." Miranda spoke up from the backseat, sounding like a haughty tour guide. It seemed that he'd have to stop and smell the roses another time. A time when she was far away.

Shepard, effectively brought back to reality, clenched his jaw and turned them towards the mass of activity below them. There were hired guns everywhere, from every gang, and plenty of freelance fools who thought their part in bringing down Archangel would grab them some quick credits. He landed and climbed from the vehicle, the others fast behind him, and glanced down a blocked off bridge towards a fortified complex. The mercs had swarmed the building's exterior, lurking and poking around to find a weak point. The vigilante had set himself up nicely. The bridge acted as an incredibly effective funnel for the more unlucky or idiotic of the mercenaries. Any decent sniper would be able to hold off dozens of men if he had the resources, even if he was alone.

"Hey! Who the hell are you? You our freelancers?"

A batarian walked towards them as he spotted their arrival, but was halted as the air was split with a crack. The merc fell dead with a single shot to the heat and Shepard's brows raised in automatic appreciation. This vigilante was far more than just a decent sniper. He made a decisive step out of the line of fire, figuring this Archangel probably wasn't very choosy on who he was aiming at.

"Nice shot." He murmured, and Zaeed made a grunt of agreement at his side.

"May be, but that asshole was our way in. Goddamn Salkie. We'll have to slum it with these waterlilies now." Massani spit and jerked a thumb at some men lingering nearby, surrounding the batarian's body with matching dumbstruck expressions. "Probably have to cross the bridge like cannon fodder unless we can convince Tarak otherwise. I might know that son of a bitch, but no way is he going to pull our asses out of the fire if our struggling will distract this shooter long enough. I say we take our chances."

"Take our chances?" Jacob echoed doubtfully.

"And charge with the horde, you mean." Shepard murmured, his voice quiet as he watched now frenzying freelancers. They were ill-equipped, with shoddy armor and cheap guns - the rats of Omega out working for food. They didn't stand a chance. "We'll have to show him we're on his side."

Zaeed caught his eye and nodded. "Goddamn right. I'm in no hurry to try my chances with another bullet through my skull."

"This sounds like a suicide mission." Jacob grumbled. Miranda was oddly quiet, apparently not seeing another way either, but a glance in her direction showed she was as thrilled as ever to be brought along.

"Good thing your boss knows how to bring us back to life." Shepard smirked as Miranda muttered something about him being impossible. He started moving forward, EDI lighting up his visor with information on the facility's layout and potential ways they could sabotage the mercenaries they would be entering alongside. Another shot echoed from over the bridge and there was more commotion as one more merc fell dead. The commander sighed. "Come on. Let's get to this guy before he kills our cover."


	6. Chapter 6

"I said tequila."

"That's what we have. Five credits."

"What the hell is it? It's purple."

"It's five credits."

She chewed the inside of her cheek, slamming down her credit chit and glaring openly at the asari. The blue woman didn't take notice as she ran the chit and sashayed haughtily to her next customer without a second look, leaving the soldier wondering why every bartender on the Citadel was asari and what the hell they had against decent liquor. A cautious sniff, and she threw the drink back with a grimace. It was fruity – sweet, cloying, and entirely too easy to get down. The exact opposite of what she wanted.

She pushed the empty glass away and stared at the vidscreens that flashed on the bar's walls. It was more of the same. Biotiball, asari telenovelas, the occasional advertisement for the newest Blasto release - all testaments to the station's ability to completely tune out the wrongs of the universe. There was nothing on the Alliance - on humanity's still-broken fleet or their rapidly disappearing colonies. Another purely human matter, according to the Council. It was all political bullshit. Possessing a council seat had been worthless, their sacrifice made meaningless by the Council ignoring Anderson's every word. Humanity was supposed to somehow solve the galaxy's problems again, so the aliens could keep sitting on their asses, sipping their damn purple drinks.

_God, I hate this place._

She wished she could convince herself that she didn't care - that alien politics weren't her problem anymore, that she didn't need to worry about anything except her work. The Alliance was the only thing that mattered. Except, it wasn't. Because despite the two-year string of assignments, the promotion, and the constant jumping from place to place, regret still needled the back of her mind. It was all for nothing. He had died for nothing.

_Stop right there, Williams._

"Oh wow, it really is you! This is great!" She blinked, her jaw setting as she turned to stare at the blonde, goateed, overexcited man that had sidled up to the bar next to her. He wore a huge, stupid grin that was aimed right at her. _Oh, hell no. _"I can't believe it! I'm so glad to meet you again. Commander Shepard's girlfriend. Wow. What a great day! Remember when I met you? You left right away, the Commander and I had some business to talk about. But wow!"

_Commander Shepard's girlfriend. _That's who they knew her as - all these idiots that only saw them in the vids, only knew them from recaps and highlights of the Battle of the Citadel. Arm-candy for the station's hero. She was really damn sick of the title. "You need to take like, twenty steps away from me, buddy."

"Wow. You really are beautiful, you know, and a little scary. Just like in the vids. My wife always said Commander Shepard could do better, but I thought you were great. Did you really punch out that reporter?" Verner. That was his name. Conrad Verner. It seemed that two years had done nothing to lessen how big of a pain in the ass he was. Ashley's eyes narrowed. "Wow!"

"You have the wrong person." Ashley sighed. "How about you back on up and leave me alone? I'm a little busy here."

_Real convincing, Williams._

"Oh, I know it's you. Look, there you are!" Verner pointed and grinned as she came on one of the vidscreens. Ashley's heart sank into her stomach. Another replay of Al-Jalani's biography of Shepard had been conveniently turned on – no doubt in response to the new memorial they were erecting on Mindoir. There was a familiar ache in her chest as she watched the clip, taken of them somewhere on the Citadel. It was always the same – he'd chase after her as she stamped away, her eyes furious, angry at God knows what. She felt her heart pause as those lost green eyes flashed, as Shepard's hand reached out and – _Oh God. _She tore her eyes away from the screen. _Don't even start, Williams. It's been two years. _

The reporter's voice cut back in, rambling something about Shepard's obsessions and instability. Her teeth grinded against each other angrily. Al-Jalani had done an excellent job at making him look mostly insane, and her look like a rank-climbing, controlling floozy. Ashley silently prayed for a chance to deck the woman again.

"See? Wow. I don't believe anything they say about you two in that vid. If they think Commander Shepard was crazy, then I must be insane!" He laughed, and she couldn't help but feel like that didn't really help. "It really is great to see you. Wow. Chief Williams." Suddenly, Verner leaned in closer. "Listen, I know the truth. About Commander Shepard."

Ashley rolled her eyes, leaning back to avoid the proximity. "Alright, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't worry. I'm going to help him again. Look, I bought armor and everything." Conrad held his arms out to the side to showcase his secondhand mercenary get-up. He was going to be dead the minute he stepped off the Citadel. "Or, my wife did. Bought it for me and told me to leave right away. She's really supportive."

Ashley deadpanned. "You don't say."

"Yeah, she's great. Anyway, could you tell me where he is? I know once I find him, he'll want me on his team. I've been training. He's been on this secret mission for so long, I'm sure I can help him wrap it up." Verner grinned, so genuine and open that she just stared. _Jesus. No one can actually be this stupid. Right? _"You must know, right? I mean, wow, you were on the Commander's crew! I think he really liked you. If anyone would know, it would be you. I'm sure he told you everything." His words tore at old wounds and Ashley stood abruptly, turning from the deluded idiot without another word. "Wait, please! You have to tell me. We need him!"

Her brows came together angrily as she spun around. "I sure as hell don't." Ashley hissed the words, but her throat tightened painfully as she did. _Two years and you're convincing no one, Williams. _"He's dead, you idiot. Go find someone else to stalk." The soldier started towards the door, but Conrad followed close at her heel.

"He's not! That's what I thought, too. Until I remembered that Shepard can't die, remember? He fought off thousands off slavers, like, a hundred thresher maws. All of those geth! And then the Reaper! No way he's dead." Verner panted, following her out, unperturbed. His eyes flashed conspiratorially as he glanced around them, looking for eavesdroppers. "Besides, I heard he's been spotted. Finally coming out into the open. Probably almost done with his secret mission… Oh, wow. He's so great."

Ashley shook her head in exasperation as the creep's voice took on a wistful tone. "You are seriously deluded."

Verner ignored her. "I think he's on Omega. Some people on the Commander Shepard Super Fan Forum said they even saw him. Fighting mercenaries, even curing a plague! Wow." Conrad sighed dreamily. "That's where I'm headed unless there's some update. I'm sure he's probably on the move again, lots of important mission stuff and everything. I'll catch up though, don't worry. Hey, do you still have his extranet address? Then I can get a hold of him and tell him I'm coming. I'm sure he'll wait then. I bet he needs my help."

She just stared, unsure where to start - the guy was obviously a lost cause. How anyone could believe he was still alive, still out saving the day in the Terminus Systems... _No._ He was gone, in a better place, away from idiots like Conrad Verner. Ashley was unable to ask how the hell he had managed to survive so long when her omnitool lit and the message rang in her ear. Anderson. "Yeah, well, good luck with that. I have things to do." She offered Conrad one last incredulous look before turning away.

"Wait, one more thing!" Verner shouted and she turned despite herself. He held out his arm, his omnitool lighting and producing a flash that signaled her picture being taken. Her fists clenched angrily.

"Are you kidding? What the hell are you going to do with that?"

She was ignored again. "Perfect. I can show him I saw you once I find him! He'll be so happy, I'm sure. I'll let you get back to work. Probably important Alliance business. I'll tell Commander Shepard you say hello!"

_Because after two years, all I'd say is 'hello.' _She rolled her eyes as she summoned a cab, biting back more choice remarks for the lunatic. She climbed into the vehicle and left the waving blonde behind – hopefully for good. Her mind swam with the absurdity of the encounter, hating how her chest still felt tight with choked down emotion. She missed her squad. Martinez, Bryant – those assholes knew better than to talk to her about him. Out there, she was just a soldier, an Alliance marine - and she made damn sure that they knew it. But here… Here, someone always made sure to remind her who she really was, who she always had been: a Williams. A name that still carried shame, the inherited ugliness now sprinkled with the strange pity that came from everyone and their mothers knowing the details of her personal life. Ashley grimaced at the Presidium gliding by beneath them. At least staying away from this place more often than not had meant she hadn't been a 'celebrity' for long.

They would forget about her, just like they were beginning to forget about him.

She decided to put it out of her mind – to forget it, not think of it, just like she did with everything concerning Shepard. It was the only way. Some jackass would always have a conspiracy theory. Today, that jackass had just happened to be Conrad Verner. There was no point in dwelling on the impossible. He was dead, she wasn't. That was all there was to it. The cab slanted to the ground and eased to a stop, and Ashley let out a sigh. _Back to work, Williams._

Anderson was waiting for her when she requested entrance to his office. The door opened smoothly and she stepped in to find the human Councilor leaning lazily against his balcony, glancing once over his shoulder at her and waving for her to join him. She fell into the easy routine – a smart, sharp salute, Anderson letting out his usual tired sigh and nodding, murmuring "At ease, Williams," before turning back to the vista. Ashley stood beside him, looking down on the lake silently, waiting for the old captain to start.

After a few moments, Anderson finally turned to her, looking over her with assessing eyes she had never really learned to read. He always seemed to be looking for something in her. She still wasn't sure if he had found it. "You doing well, Williams?"

"Yes, sir." Her voice was clipped. They had managed a long time with something of a mutual understanding – after the blowout of Shepard's funeral, discussing anything too personal was pretty much out of bounds. Something that Ashley greatly appreciated.

Anderson nodded, not pushing. "Good. We have a new assignment for you. It's…sensitive." He paused, searching for the best way to explain. "We need someone to look in on one of our colonies. It's high risk – a Terminus colony with limited Alliance resources. They're not fond of our interference, but we have to send someone, especially after the attack on Freedom's Progress." Anderson's face seemed to age exponentially. "They have no defense systems. You'll be there overseeing the installation of anti-aircraft artillery and making sure the colonists are ready in case there's cause for evacuation."

Ashley's eyes widened. "Overseeing?"

"It's time you took on a larger leadership role, Operations Chief." The smallest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "But you'll be alone. The colonists won't allow a large Alliance force in. You'll have to train them to defend themselves, set them up the best you can and get them out if they're in danger. Can you do that?"

Ashley nodded, her eyes filled with renewed determination. "I'll get it done, sir."

"Good." He said simply, an affirmation that filled her with pride. It was short-lived, however, as she took in the deepening worry etched on his face. The colony attacks had to be weighing on him.

"Do we know who's doing this yet, sir? All those people…" Her voice trailed and she looked back to the lake. None of it made any sense. There weren't bodies, no signs of slavers or pirates or even geth. How could entire colonies just disappear?

Anderson watched her a moment. "No. The colonies are too far out for us to get reliable intel, and the data from systems is always wiped. Some think its Cerberus. A recon team spotted their shuttle leaving Freedom's Progress." Ashley grimaced. Mention of the rogue organization still left a bad taste in her mouth. She had hunted them, for a time, on Hackett's orders, heard of their attempt to take over the quarian fleet. They were still the terrorists Shepard said they were, but Anderson's voice was oddly doubtful.

"You don't think it's them?"

The Councilor was oddly silent, not meeting her gaze. "No." He said simply after a time. "I think they're just after information. But that's just speculation. Keep your eyes sharp, Williams. They're up to something. Whether it's for good or ill, we don't know yet." Ashley frowned. _What good has Cerberus ever done? _ She didn't get a chance to ask as he stood straight, walking away from the balcony and back towards his desk. "Hope you don't mind we're cutting your shore time short. You ship out in three days."

She almost laughed. This leave, like every one, had been forced. Too much time to sit and think when you're lazing around. The old captain knew damn well she was ready to get back to it. "Where am I going, sir?" Anderson shuffled through some datapads, grabbing the one he sought and tossing it to her without warning. She caught it nimbly, glancing down at the specs of the garden planet and the colony she would be guarding. Anderson's dark brown eyes met hers, searching again, and she couldn't help but get the impression he was debating something. Finally, he just shook his head and heaved another tired sigh.

"Horizon."


	7. Chapter 7

Another gunshot, and two bodies fell on the bridge. The surrounding mercenaries scrambled for cover.

"Two in one." Shepard muttered, brows raising appreciatively as he peered over the barricade and down the bridge at the two fallen freelancers. There was a glint of the vigilante's scope on the balcony, and he took the queue to duck back down. He had no plan of being the next idiot with a bullet in the head. Miranda crouched at his side as more mercs started over the barricade. No matter how many Archangel took out, there always seemed to be more looking for a chance at Omega's number one enemy. "You're sure those mechs are rigged?"

The Cerberus operative looked affronted, obviously not pleased at having her work questioned. "Yes, Commander." The spite in her voice was palpable.

"With that and the gunship's technician…out of service," He murmured quietly as another group passed over them. Zaeed snorted. The old mercenary had been delighted by Shepard's use of a makeshift taser on the gunship's repairman. "We should have an advantage once we get in. We just need to cross that bridge and hope our guy doesn't take us as one of these morons." He offered Miranda an irritated glance as another bullet flew by. "How did you people not get a message off to him to let him know we're coming? Isn't that supposed to be your thing?"

"It wasn't known if you would want him on your team, Commander. We've left the decision of who makes up your squad up to you – something I seem to recall you demanding." Miranda's voice was cold as ever, her blue eyes meeting his head-on. Any further bickering was cut short by a batarian's guttural shout.

"Hey, you! You aren't being paid to hide on this end. Get your asses over that bridge or I'll shoot you myself!"

Shepard's jaw clenched tighter, the batarian's familiar dictatorial tone sending a surge of fury through him. He felt the muscles in his neck twitch as his blood pulsed. Jacob eyed him cautiously, a hand readying itself on his assault rifle.

"Guess we're gonna see what happens?" The soldier's voice was probing, and it drew Shepard's gaze away from the batarian picking his way towards them. The commander nodded, rolling his neck to rid some of the tension as another group of wide-eyed freelancers were cajoled to the barricade.

"We go over with them. Stay with the group, find cover when you can. Once we get close, listen for my queue." His voice was hushed, mercs piling behind the barrier around them, shaking as they waited for the order that would send them to their deaths. One particularly moronic one peeked his head out of cover a little too far. His body fell near Shepard's feet, newly decorated with a hole to the head. "And keep your damn heads down." The team nodded their assent and readied their weapons as the batarian commander drew closer.

"Get your filthy asses off of my barricade and make yourselves useful!" The four-eyed mercs rasping shout startled the freelancers crouched around them. They stared at him, wide-eyed and terrified. "All of you! Go!" There was a pause, until the batarian drew a shotgun and fired at an unfortunate man near the end of the line. Shepard's fists clenched, his teeth grinding against each other as he hoped for the chance to put down this particular asshole. "Now!"

They didn't need another push. The freelancers started over the makeshift wall, a few being felled immediately by precision shots to the head, the chest. With a nod to his team, Shepard followed, rifle drawn as he climbed over and dropped onto the bridge. The vigilantes scope glinted again overhead and he didn't waste time sprinting to a low ledge. Another merc fell near him and he tightened his hold on his rifle. They just needed to get close – close enough so that when they turned on the mercs, they could make it into the shelter of Archangel's base. Hopefully, gunning down a few freelancers on the way in would be enough to convince the vigilante of their goodwill.

He rolled to another ledge, glancing back to see the rest of his team following dutifully behind him. Zaeed edged closely behind one merc, making his way to a point on the opposite side of the bridge. His human shield was shot down just as he made it to cover, and the old mercenary shouted something obscene as he was splattered with the freelancer's blood. The inexperience of the mercenaries was showing – they ran wildly down the bridge, firing at random, not even bothering to aim as they shouted their would-be war cries. Shepard ran after them, hurdling over bodies as they fell silent, blood pounding in his ears as his cover was shot down around him.

_Fuck._

He just had to make it halfway. Halfway, and he wouldn't have to worry about being pinned down by mercs on the bridge. There was a gunshot, and he stumbled back, the air knocked out of him as a bullet struck his armor. He fell behind a crashed skycar and looked down at his chest, inhaling sharply against bruised ribs. No blood. _What the hell?_

"You good, Commander?" Jacob crouched beside him, and he found Miranda and Zaeed's eyes watching from nearby, waiting for them to advance from behind a ledge.

"The bastard fucking shot me." He growled but nodded and hoisted his rifle again. "Concussive shot only, though. Either he thinks I'm cute, or he knows something's up. Come on, they're getting closer." Shepard moved out of cover again, darting forward more recklessly. More boots hit the bridge behind them, and those left from the first assault neared the base's entrance and ran wildly towards it. "Goddamn it, now!"

He fired of two shots in quick succession at the overeager mercs nearing the building. He heard his team do the same, Miranda and Jacob glowing with biotic power as they turned on the freelancers around them, throwing the hired guns off the side of the bridge and into the station's depths. They had the element of surprise on their side – most were down before they knew what was going on. But a few of the less idiotic ones slid into their hiding spots.

"Shit, they're with Archangel! Get them!"

Shepard awarded the crier a quick, silencing shot before running towards the base. Zaeed shot down a merc crouched over a device just inside the facility before taking out the few stragglers that had managed to make it inside. "Miranda, deactivate that bomb."

"Yes, Commander."

He glanced back through the doorway and out over the bridge. Everything was quiet, a harsh contrast to the explosion of sound just moments before. His heart still raced with the familiar, comforting adrenaline of battle, and he let the pounding blood drown out the ringing in his ears as he surveyed the gruesome scene they left behind. How long had this been going on? Bodies were piled on the bridge, the mercs obviously not bothering to remove their dead. There were scorch marks from heavy ammo here and there, and the building itself looked like it had taken a substantial blast – bits of rubble lay strewn across the ground. The place was a warzone. He was left wondering how the fuck this guy had managed to hold out.

"Done, Shepard."

He nodded. "Come on. I think the mercs are taking a minute to process what the fuck just happened. We better go grab our new friend." Shepard started towards the stairway and took the steps two at a time, his rifle still in hand as he approached the door. His hand slapped the control and it buzzed in protest. "Fuck. You'd think he'd open the door for us, at least." He pounded a fist against the door and grimaced as there was no answer. Miranda strode forward, not concealing her eye roll as she keyed a hack on her omnitool with practiced ease.

He really needed to get better at that.

The door swung open after a moment, and the squad stepped inside the cramped, cluttered room overlooking the bridge. The walls were decorated with bullet holes and bloodstains. Empty ammo cartridges littered the floor next to used dextro ration packs. Lined along one wall and covered with blankets lie more bodies, evidently not those of mercenaries from the obvious respect they were treated with. The place was a pit, a foxhole, not well-fortified enough to be used for anything but a last stand. The vigilante didn't bother looking at them as they entered, the turian still looking down the scope of a very familiar rifle. Shepard stopped short, his eyes widening in shock.

"Archangel?" Miranda, apparently done waiting for him to address the turian, stepped forward. The vigilante held up a three-fingered hand to hold her back as he took aim with the old rifle.

His rifle.

It wasn't possible. But it had to be. The barrel was the same, still modded with that jury-rigged extension he had put on it back on the Tokyo. Ash's rail amp was still there, the paint still mismatched, if only slightly more worn. The turian fired the weapon, the clap of the shot suddenly sounding more familiar, resonating with long dead memories. His hands ached to hold it again.

"That's my fucking gun." He growled, and Miranda looked back at him like he was mad. His fists clenched as there was a very turian chuckle from behind the vigilante's mask.

"Guess it is you then." Archangel moved from the balcony, lowering his rifle off its perch as he turned towards them, unconcerned as he took a few steps closer. The turian's talons rose to remove his helmet, and Shepard felt his jaw land somewhere on the floor. "Shepard." Garrus Vakarian stood before him, steel blue eyes studying him with a chill they hadn't possessed before. "Thought you were dead."

For a moment, Shepard could only stare, his mind attempting to grasp how in the hell the universe could be this small. "What- How in the fuck? Garrus? _You're _Archangel? How –? Fuck."

The turian's mandibles twitched in a tired sort of amusement. "Eloquent as ever."

"Fuck you." He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "What are you doing here? How did you manage to piss off this many mercs?"

"Just keeping my skills sharp. A little bit of target practice." He sounded exhausted, his usual wit dampened by the surroundings. Shepard's grin faded. Garrus' eyes were cold, his mandibles drooping. A quick survey of the scene around them could tell him why. "Let me tell you, it wasn't easy. I_ really_ had to work for it."

Shepard smirked, but the expression was as forced as Garrus' humor. The two took in one another for a moment, and Shepard's brow furrowed as he recognized the loss. He didn't need to ask what had happened – and he knew from the turian's slumped form that the inquiry wouldn't be welcome. Better to keep it simple. "You look like shit."

Garrus snorted. "You too. Been running face first through glass for two years?"

"Something like that." His fingers trailed one of the angry red scars on his jaw. "You nailed me pretty good down there, by the way."

"Concussive rounds only." The turian shrugged. "You were taking your sweet time, I had to get you moving."

"Uh huh. You've got a quad, shooting me with my own gun." Shepard glanced at it curiously. "We get through this, you're giving it back."

"I don't know. You're looking kind of rusty. She deserves to be handled by someone who can really make her dance." Garrus' mandibles flared in amusement. It was so easy, falling into the same banter, the same rhythm he had had two years ago. The ringing in his ears seemed to become quieter as he felt a little more human. For the first time since being woken up, things felt a little more real. "Besides, it was a gift. I'd hate to give it away."

"A gift?" Shepard repeated, quirking a brow. Miranda cleared her throat behind him and he sighed.

"Not to interrupt, Commander," She drawled impatiently. "But I believe it is time that we thought about moving on. The mercenaries seem to be considering another assault."

Garrus glanced at the woman curiously, then back to Shepard, his eyes questioning. The commander simply shook his head in return, not wishing to encourage the Cerberus operative by acknowledging her presence. The turian shrugged it off and glanced again down the bridge. The mercs were indeed readying for another assault – beginning to crowd in front of the bridge's barricade again, no longer only simple, poorly equipped freelancers, but mercenaries from Omega's main gangs. Shepard's jaw set as he surveyed the scene, their eyes meeting once more, seemingly coming to the same conclusion.

"So, I got in. Any idea how we get the hell out?" He glanced down the bridge again as Garrus shrugged.

"We pick them off, funnel the groups down the bridge. It'll be easy now, with your team here. The mercs will go on the offensive – they know their infiltration team has failed, so I'm guessing they'll start sending in scouts, then their heavy hitters. Eclipse has mechs –"

"They're hacked." Miranda supplied casually.

"Right. Well, that's helpful." Garrus drawled, glancing at the operative momentarily. "But the real problem is the Blue Suns' gunship. I managed to damage it, but they're been making repairs-"

"No worries there. Sunshine here cattle prodded the repairman." Zaeed snorted, jabbing a thumb towards Shepard with a grizzly smirk. Garrus nodded, mandibles twitching.

"Nice. It should be easier to deal with, then." He lifted the rifle and peered through the scope, tracing the outline of the barricade. "They should be sending people over soon. There's never much time between waves." He muttered darkly, and glanced back up at Shepard. "I don't know what they're waiting for-" As if on cue, an explosion rocked the base.

"What the hell was that?" Jacob grunted, bracing himself against the wall. Shepard tightened his hold on his gun.

"Is there a passage underneath us?"

Garrus nodded. "They must have rigged the doors."

"Why is it always fucking explosions?" Shepard growled, moving back towards the stairs. Like hell he was going to let anyone at the turian now – not after he just found him. "Miranda, Zaeed, you're with me. We'll head them off." His eyes found Jacob's. "Watch his back." His voice was low and stern, and the soldier gave a quick nod, his jaw set with determination. "Try not to get your ass shot, Vakarian."

Garrus snorted. "Just like old times, Shepard."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"_Garrus!_"

It was weird, feeling the fire without feeling pain. He was aware of the shouting, of the blast. He knew there was someone screaming his name. But he was just stuck, trapped with eyes wide open, trying to gasp for air through half a face.

"Fuck, help him!"

There was still gunfire. The sound of it trickled in as the blood trickled through his mouth, down his throat. The feeling started to return as it dripped into his lungs. He could feel the fire. He could feel the blood. He could hear the explosion and see the flash of fire as the gunfire died out. Everything was pain.

"Commander, he needs immediate medical help."

There were hands, human hands, trying to staunch the flow. But it was beginning to fade already. The flash of pain ebbing with the light, with the sound. He was grateful for it. Archangel was supposed to die here, after all. He couldn't leave his team.

"Don't you even think about fucking dying, asshole."

He tried to laugh, but he just gargled, gasping for air through burning lungs. It was a null argument, coming from Shepard – his old friend was able to die. Why couldn't he? He tried to raise an arm, to bring talons to the burning hide of his face. The room was almost black.

"Fight it, Vakarian. I need you in this."

Two years he had been fighting. He was choking, burning, drowning, and so tired of fighting. He was dully aware of being jostled and lifted, pain shooting through his body once more, causing him to gasp and groan deep in blood-filled lungs.

"Come on, Garrus. _Fight._"

It was equal parts plea and order, just as he was filled with equal parts relief and resentment. He was so damn sick of fighting. Everything was black, but he knew he wasn't done. Archangel was gone, but Shepard was back. And he had to fight, because even though it was going to be really damn difficult, it was the right thing to do.

_Guess I'll see you around after all, Dad._


	8. Chapter 8

**I'd like to apologize to everyone for the long wait between chapters. Between school, work, and the holidays, it has been an extremely busy few months. Things are starting to slow down though, and I hope to start updating again at my normal pace.  
>Thank you all for baring with me and continuing to follow this story! More to come soon.<strong>

**Enjoy!**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The first thing that was wrong when he woke up was the smell.

Omega always smelled like shit. But all he could smell now it was the clean, sterile, clinical scent of a medbay. Nothing was burning. There were no bodies decaying somewhere nearby. He drew in another slow breath and cautiously opened his eyes, only to be greeted by an incredibly, impossibly familiar sight.

"Dr. Chak - _ah, shit_." Garrus raised his talons to prod the sudden fire blooming over the side of his face and neck. Apparently, getting blown up hadn't been a dream. Unless he was dead. He glanced around the entirely too-familiar medbay and decided that was probably the more likely scenario.

"Mr. Vakarian, welcome back." The doctor turned from her desk and stood, taking the few strides over to his bed with a serious expression. He stared at her with mild confusion at the use of his name - it had been a while since he had been called that. But of course he was Vakarian here. Archangel had died on Omega. "You should still be resting." The welcoming words were matched by a scolding tone that always had been the Doc's specialty. He chose to ignore her and pushed himself up, grunting at the effort and the soreness of his muscles. Everything hurt. Things weren't supposed to hurt when you were dead.

But he wasn't dead. He was back here, almost whole and healed, and they were all back there where he left them. Lining the walls of rubble that used to be his base.

"So," He drawled the word out as an interruption to his thoughts, careful to avoid moving his mandibles best he could. It felt like someone had tried to rip it off. Reaching up again, he came to the realization that that wasn't far from the truth - his right mandible had been shortened significantly. A large bandage still covered most of his face. _Well, that's fantastic. _"I take it I didn't hallucinate Shepard?"

"No, Mr. Vakarian." The doctor swatted down his talons. "Stop disturbing your bandages. I know this must be very unsettling, waking up here." _Yeah, you could say that. _"But as I said, you should still be resting. Your injuries still need time to heal."

"Where is here exactly?" He mused, choosing again to ignore her last few words. "Because it looks suspiciously like the Normandy, which I would have said was impossible if I hadn't just found Shepard strolling down the alleys of Omega."

"This is the Normandy SR-2. I'll allow the Commander to explain in depth, but I will provide that you are well, despite an extremely close call with explosives." The doctor's voice was laced with disapproval, but he simply leveled her gaze.

"But the Normandy was an Alliance ship. They would have announced the construction of a new model. Unless they built the SR-2 in secret? Shepard's just been lying low for two years?" He couldn't believe it. Shepard - the man he knew, his Commander - wouldn't have just left them to fight alone.

Chakwas shook her head, waving a hand to dismiss what she obviously considered a foolish idea. "No. The SR-2 is not an Alliance ship." The turian allowed one brow plate to rise in question, and she sighed. "This Normandy was built and is funded by Cerberus."

He couldn't help it. He gaped at her, and the action sent renewed pain through his jaw. "Cerberus." The name tasted bitter in his mouth. He couldn't wrap his mind around it. Shepard - alive, on the Normandy, and working with an organization he'd only ever heard the man refer to as terrorists or monsters. _Spirits, what a mess._

She gave a curt nod, turning away and walking back towards her desk. "Now, as I said, I'll allow the Commander to fill you in on the details." The turian began to stand, trying to avoid acknowledging his body's protest to the movement. Chakwas sighed. "And as you obviously seem unwilling to follow my medical advice, I'll simply suggest that you join the ground team on Deck 2 in the Briefing Room. I'm sure Shepard would want you to be there. He's certainly been harassing me enough about it."

"Thanks, Doc." He turned to the neatly piled, still scorched armor at his bedside and began to snap it on. Being a turian on a ship full of pro-human extremists seemed as a good a time as any to walk in prepared. He grabbed his visor last. It looked brand new – the only piece of his armor that didn't show damage from the blast. Probably repaired by one of the crew, and probably in need of some serious calibrations. He sighed and stepped towards the door only to be stopped as the doctor turned again to face him.

"Mr. Vakarian, before you go, I'd ask that you try and meet our current situation with an open mind." He cast her yet another questioning glance. "We've had some difficulty with certain members of command cooperating. It would be nice to have a more…diplomatic presence on board."

"Right." The turian sighed. It was oddly comforting to find that Shepard still harbored a resentment for Cerberus. But then why was he here at all? His mandibles drooped as best they could as he considered it, and Chakwas turned back to her desk, effectively dismissing him. He left the medbay, the door opening to reveal to him the ship's familiar layout. It was surreal. The subtle differences were outweighed by the similarities. He found himself walking past the kitchen and lounge, past the life pods and towards the conveniently labeled main battery. The door swung open in welcome at his approach and professional curiosity drew him in. His brows rose in appreciation at the sight before him.

_That's a damn fine looking gun._

He approached the console before it, itching to examine its specs, but his talons drew back in surprise as a pawn-shaped hologram interrupted his appraisal.

"I apologize, Mr. Vakarian, but any adjustments to the forward battery must be first approved by Commander Shepard or Operative Lawson."

"Uh, right…" He edged back towards the door. "What are you?"

"I am the Normandy's artificial intelligence. The crew likes to refer to me as EDI."

"Great." He drawled. _Tali would just love this. _

"Yes, Mr. Vakarian." The pawn disappeared. _Creepy. _He left the battery quickly and made his way back through the lounge easily - the black-and-white clad crewmen seemed more than eager to stay out of his way. He wondered briefly if his face really looked that bad or if they were just that afraid of turians. Or maybe both. With a sigh, he rounded the corner and boarded the elevator. The doors closed and brought down with them the reality of what had happened as he was left alone. His mandibles tightened against his face, a throbbing pain following the motion. A physical reminder of his failure.

He regretted not having taken a moment to look in a mirror. The scars would be undoubtedly large - burnt away plates and ravaged hide to show the world just where he had fallen short, just how he had let them down. How he had gotten them killed. It was no less than he deserved. He rode with his guilt in companionable silence until the door opened and the chatter of the crew began to push it back down, leaving him wanting for purpose. Until he glanced down and found himself face to face with a grinning, redheaded human, her eyes bright and over-eager as she stepped towards him.

"Detective Vakarian! I'm Kelly. It is a _pleasure_ to meet you!" He wondered briefly if her face was stuck like that. None of the humans on the Normandy or in his squad had been this… enthusiastic. "Please, let me know if I can do anything to help you."

Garrus blinked. "Right. Well, it's not Detective anymore." He muttered, glancing at a few nervous crewmen watching the interaction. _It's like they think its First Contact all over again._ "Just Garrus is fine. Where's Shepard?"

"He's in the Briefing Room with the ground team. You'll find it just through those doors." Kelly's voice was still bright as she pointed towards the Armory doors. He nodded his thanks and escaped before she could offer any more help - the woman seemed far too pleasant for Cerberus, and he wanted to avoid them as well as he could until he figured out what exactly was going on. He walked through the Armory, making a mental note to look over its contents better later, and made his way through another set of doors until he could hear a familiar, deep voice filled with the same irritated tone so often used in their debriefings on Saren. He slowed his steps, smirking.

"Why the hell are we going to a prison ship managed by mercs again? Did we not learn our lesson on Omega, or are these assholes the only friends your boss can make?" Shepard had apparently not lost his charm. For some reason, it made him feel more at ease.

"Ey! We can be good goddamn friends." A strangely accented human voice, and a snort he assumed was Shepard's.

"If you're paid enough."

There was a pause, then a grunt of agreement.

"It should be an in-and-out." This voice was familiar somehow. "Everything has been arranged - all we need to do is pick the prisoner up."

"Right. Because nothing about releasing a powerful biotic convict into our custody could go wrong. No, we're going to the Citadel first. We can grab that thief, resupply, and get some decent fucking weapons. I'm sick of this shit." Garrus snorted, pausing in front of the door. "We need the whole crew ready to go for the prison ship and the warlord. Chakwas says Garrus will be good to go soon – we'll take the few days, get him up to speed, and then go and get your goddamn convict."

Garrus took his queue and keyed the door for entry. Shepard looked up, meeting his gaze with bloodshot green eyes, and grinned. In all that had happened on Omega, he had forgotten how bad the man looked. Red scars traced unnatural patterns along his jaw, his cheekbone. _Shit._ It seemed they were both a little worse for wear from the past two years. The others looked at him in surprise, evidently not expecting him to join them so soon.

"Tough son of a bitch." He knew Jacob when he spoke up again – he was the one he had fought alongside. Good soldier.

Shepard ignored the operative's appraisal. "Dismissed, all of you. Miranda, tell Joker to set course for the Citadel."

Shepard received a seething look from a dark-haired woman he recognized from the team on Omega. She stood with a bitter, "Yes, Commander," and followed the rest of them out. A salarian eyed him curiously as he passed, muttering something about tissue reconstruction and implants. Garrus took a decisive step away from the door as it closed behind them, not wishing to find out if those plans were meant for him. He glanced back to Shepard as the man leaned against the large table in the center of the room.

"Shepard."

The Commander crossed his arms with a smirk. "Done with the beauty sleep?"

He snorted. "Not sure what good it did. Haven't even had a chance to look – how bad is it?" He lifted a talon to gesture the ruined side of his face. Shepard just shrugged, the serious knot of his brow contradicting the smirk on his lips.

"Hell, Garrus. You were always ugly. Slap some face paint on there and nobody will know the difference."

He laughed, the cathartic action ruined by the blaze of fire that shot through his jaw as he overextended a mandible. "Ah – ow, hurts to laugh." Shepard snorted as the turian lifted his talons to prod his bandage again. "Probably for the best. Everyone was always ignoring you and hitting on me." The man's expression darkened despite the small chuckle he gave in response. Garrus sighed, feeling the levity slip away as Shepard's hand lifted to push back his hair. They could play pretend, but there was no avoiding how shitty things had turned out. "So, I hear you're having problems making friends."

"Oh, fuck you."

"You know, with that winning personality, I can't imagine how."

"Laugh it up. I'm not here to cozy up to these assholes." Shepard leaned more heavily, his shoulders visibly rolling forward. His hands grasped the edge like a life raft. The man always had had a gift for looking tense, but this… Even the hunt for Saren hadn't left him looking so fragile. He had only witnessed the man break down completely once. He wasn't eager to see it again.

"Then why are you here?" Garrus asked, and Shepard let out a labored breath. "I mean, Cerberus, Shepard? Are you sure about this?"

"No, I'm not fucking sure about this." The dark circles beneath the Commander's eyes seemed more prominent when he looked back up, pushing himself back from the table. "You know how I feel about Cerberus. That hasn't changed just because they picked me out of space and put me back together somehow. But I don't have goddamn a choice. I lost two _years_, Garrus, and from what I understand, they are the only ones doing shit about these disappearing colonies. They're the only ones looking into the Reapers." Shepard turned away, a hand coming up to run through his hair again. He was wound too tight, ready to snap. Garrus watched a tremor run over the man, brow plates lowering in concern as he tried to piece it all together. "They're still coming. We're running out of time."

The turian was silent, unsure where to begin as Shepard leaned back against the table and stared at the wall with an unreadable gaze. His scars seemed brighter somehow, and it made Garrus uneasy. They had brought him back to life. He had no idea how that could even be possible, how Shepard could be standing here, intact, walking and talking and swearing the same as he had two years before. It was all just so ridiculously impossible. But he believed it. Maybe because he was lost. Maybe because he had failed so spectacularly at his own command that he needed the guidance Shepard had given him before. It didn't matter.

_This is going to end badly._

"We did try, you know. To get people prepared." He offered finally. Shepard glanced back towards him, looking more exhausted than he had a right to after two years of rest. "But you know the Council and their political bullshit – they'll string their red tape around every issue so nothing gets done until it can be in some way that benefits them. And without someone backing us, with all of us separated like we were… Well, what matters is we're doing something now. I've got your back, Shepard. You say this is how we stop them, I'm with you."

Shepard held his gaze, his green eyes recovering some of their warmth, his jaw seeming to just barely relax. He nodded. "Thanks, Garrus. I sure as fuck can use you." The turian waved it off, relieved as something near a grin returned to the Commander's face. "You need to practice not getting yourself shot, though. I mean, come on. A missile to the face?"

"What can I say? I was aiming for dramatic effect." Garrus allowed himself a lopsided smile. "Now, can you tell your computer to let me work on the battery? I need something to do while I'm here, and it wasn't too keen on me checking it out."

Shepard snorted. "EDI, Garrus is allowed full access to the main battery and any subsequent systems."

"Yes, Commander." The pawn appeared and left in an instant.

Garrus frowned. "Always watching?" Shepard gave a distinctly displeased grunt to confirm it. "Great. Well, this should be fun. I'll be down in the battery. I'm fit for duty whenever you need me."

"Chakwas cleared you?" Shepard's brows rose in surprise. Garrus shrugged and turned towards the door, but he heard the man step after him. "Wait, I…" He paused as the turian looked back at him. "My rifle. You got it from Ash, didn't you?" His voice was raw. Garrus sighed, watching the man tense back up as he nodded. "Where is she, Garrus?"

"I don't know, Shepard. I've been out of contact with everyone for a while now, and she…" He struggled for words, trying to find the best way to let him down when the man looked desperate for any word of her. "I haven't seen her since the funeral. That's when she gave it to me. She wasn't good, Shepard. She didn't want us around her. She didn't want anyone around her. Then she just left. No goodbyes. I think she needed to leave it all behind her." Shepard stared at him, his fists tightening into balls at his side before he turned back to the table, clutching it hard enough he looked ready to rip it from the floor. Red-rimmed green eyes glared at the wall again.

"We'll find her, Shepard." He promised, but he knew by the set of the Commander's jaw that it would likely not be soon enough. He prayed that when they did, she'd be happy to see them. He turned from the room without another word, content to spend time with his own ghosts as Shepard did with his.


	9. Chapter 9

"As Councilor, I represent the voice of humanity and the Alliance. Shepard will be here any – "

The door swung open before him, and there was Anderson, the same steady, unwavering man he had been two years ago – if only a little more grey. Shepard's relief at Anderson's voice, at seeing his old mentor standing before him, was dampened by the holographs of the Council flickering expectantly as he entered the room. Each pair of eyes followed him as he approached his captain, and Anderson's shoulders slumped, his eyes warming as he came forward.

"Anderson." He extended his hand and Anderson shook it with a weak smile, a hand coming to rest a moment on Shepard's shoulder. "It's damn good to see you, sir."

"You have no idea." The man sounded exhausted, heaving out the words with a sigh. "It's good to have you back, Shepard."

Any further sentiments were lost as the salarian councilor cleared his throat, haughty as ever. "We've heard many rumors concerning your unexpected return, Commander. Some of them are… unsettling."

_This should be fucking delightful._

"We have called this meeting so you could explain your actions, Shepard. We owe you that much. After all, you did save our lives in the battle against Saren and his geth."

Tevos looked down on him with her usual superiority and Shepard's fists clenched, his eyes finding Anderson's. "_His_ geth?" The words ground out of his chest and Anderson gave him a stern look, no doubt warning him to keep his temper in check. The idiots were still just as useless, hiding beneath their lies, once again ignoring any real threat. His shoulders rolled back as he turned to address them. There was no point in trying to explain where he'd been – they'd fabricate their own reality anyway. Better to get straight to the point. "The Collectors are abducting whole human colonies in the Terminus Systems. We believe they're working for the Reapers."

Unsurprisingly, his favorite turian was the first to speak up. "The Terminus Systems are outside our jurisdiction. Your colonists knew this when they left Council space."

Shepard's jaw tightened. "Listen, ass-"

"You're missing the important part, Councilor." Anderson stepped forward, silencing him with a tired glare. "The Reapers are involved."

Sparatus audibly scoffed. "Ah yes, 'Reapers'." His talons rose to emphasize the word with air quotes, and Shepard suddenly had never regretted saving the asshole more. "The immortal race of sentient starships waiting in dark space. We have dismissed that claim."

"Are you fucking serious?"

Anderson held up his hand as the commander stepped forward. "Shepard, no one else encountered the hologram on Ilos that told you about the Reapers. Only you and your crew ever spoke with Sovereign."

"You all saw it!" He snarled, turning back to his old captain. "Remember? The giant fucking ship that obliterated half of our fleet?"

"I believe you, Shepard." Anderson said firmly, meeting his gaze with the same defusing calmness he always had. "But without evidence from another source, the others believe Saren was responsible for the geth attacks."

His hand pulled through his hair as he tried to grasp for something, _anything_ to make them see. They couldn't do this again. They couldn't put their fear and their pride before the safety of the civilizations they were meant to protect. "Go to Ilos and talk to Vigil for yourselves. It will explain everything." He growled, trying to cling to his last remaining shred of calm. "Or just take a fucking stroll down to wherever you're keeping what remains of Sovereign. It's obvious that technology is beyond any of our races'."

"The hologram on Ilos is no longer functional." Valern informed him. _Fucking typical. _"And we have found nothing to suggest that Sovereign was not a geth creation."

"The geth are capable of remarkable technological achievements." Tevos chimed in unhelpfully, still speaking to him in a tone meant for toddlers. "This is probably why Saren recruited them."

"This Reaper theory proves just how fragile your mental state is. You have been manipulated by Cerberus, and before them, by Saren." Sparatus concluded.

Shepard could feel his tendons straining against the tension in his neck. The blood was pounding in his ears, almost loud enough to drown out that incessant ringing. But as his teeth grinded against each other even that seemed to get louder, anger blossoming into rage as they railroaded him.

"You do fucking realize this is what you did last time, right?" His eyes found Sparatus, the turian glaring at him with open loathing. "Go ahead, hide behind this geth bullshit. Pretend like they just decided to launch a full assault on the Citadel because a _Council_ agent told them to." His eyes found the asari as the words ripped themselves from his throat. "Then tell me why those machines - with all of their remarkable fucking technological achievements - haven't tried again. Why they suddenly seemed a whole lot more friendly after Sovereign's defeat." His knuckles popped as his fists clenched further. "You can go ahead and just dismiss this as me raving again, but it was my fragile mental state that warned you idiots the first time. I didn't save you so you could get all of these people killed. The Reapers are coming - pretending it isn't true won't change that."

The words tasted like metal, his ears pounding with a too-familiar screech. He inhaled sharply to try and clear it.

"Shepard is obviously unhinged." Sparatus was apparently done acknowledging his presence, as he turned back to Anderson with a dismissive wave of taloned fingers. "We should be questioning the threat he poses to the Council."

"Oh, fuck you." He growled. "I'm going to take from your inability to pull your heads out of your asses that you won't be helping me?"

The turian's hands flew up in exasperation, and Valern shook his head. Tevos just sighed. "You have to understand, Commander. You've put us in a difficult position. We've been told you're working with Cerberus – an avowed enemy of the Council. That is treason, a capital offense."

Shepard's mouth opened to speak, but before he could, Anderson stepped forward with eyes blazing. "That's too far! Shepard is a hero. I'm on this Council too, and I won't let this whitewash continue."

There was a pause, and Shepard watched as the three alien councilors looked at one another with identical expressions. He knew now that Miranda had been right, again – Anderson's position on the Council was nothing more than a platitude.

Tevos finally spoke up again. "Perhaps there is a compromise." She sounded as doubtful as Shepard felt. "Not a public acknowledgement, given your ties, but something to show peripheral support."

Sparatus looked thoroughly unhappy with the prospect. "Shepard, if you keep a low profile and restrict your operation to the Terminus Systems, the Council is willing to offer you reinstatement as a Spectre."

His brow furrowed. "You're unwilling to offer me public support, but you'll reinstate me as a Spectre?" He shook his head, ignoring Anderson's cautionary glance. "A Spectre you will deny involvement with? Whose activities you can't condone, but you'll allow to happen where you wouldn't be able to stop me anyway? You seriously think giving me a fake membership to your fucking club is enough?"

"Shepard." Anderson warned, catching his eye and shaking his head. He knew the captain would want him to agree to this, that he should, at least to hold on to the connection with the Council. But they were so goddamn infuriating.

"Commander, we cannot be involved in your investigation of the missing colonies in the Terminus Systems." Tevos repeated. "But reinstating your Spectre status is a show of good faith – the Council's way of demonstrating our support for you personally."

_Well, isn't that real fucking nice of you._

The ringing in his ears was nearly deafening as he glared at the councilors. He had saved them. He had saved them for a chance at unity, at cooperation. For a chance to face the fucking bringers of the apocalypse with even the slightest possibility of survival. As a reward, they were giving the job back to him.

He didn't feel guilty for wishing he had let them die.

He wanted to deny it. To say to hell with diplomacy and tell them where to shove it. But Anderson's eyes were exhausted, aged beyond his years, and the plea in them was so foreign that Shepard faltered.

"Fine. I accept your fucking offer." He growled, a hand pulling at his hair. Anderson let out an audible sigh of relief. "I want full access to Spectre requisitions."

"Of course, Commander." Tevos coddled. "You'll be awarded all of the usual benefits."

_As long as I pretend I'm fucking dead._

"I am glad to see you still possess some small ability to reason, Commander." Sparatus chimed in smugly. Shepard hoped he would have the chance one day to deck the turian.

"Good luck with your investigation, Commander. We hope for a quick resolution, and a quick end to your relationship with Cerberus."

The alien councilmembers disappeared as the holo switched off, and Shepard wasted no time in finding the nearest wall and throwing a fist at it. Anderson sighed behind him.

"They're fucking impossible!" He was seething. He paced across the room, muscles bound with tension as he tried to shake his head free of the constant noise. They weren't going to help. The Reapers were coming, and he had to find a way to face them alone.

_**We are unstoppable.**_

His fist found another wall.

"That went a lot better than I thought it would, actually." Anderson answered, taking slow steps to the balcony and leaning against it heavily. He seemed barely interested in Shepard's pacing form as he looked out over the Presidium, taking in the absurd, artificial beauty with weary eyes. He looked defeated. "I see time off didn't help with that temper."

"It was a slap in the face. I don't give a fuck if it'll help in the long run. Those assholes will never do anything but get in our way." Shepard shook his head sharply. "I should have told them no. I did fine without their help the first fucking time, I sure as hell don't need them now."

"Yes, you do. And humanity does." Anderson chided. "They're the only allies we have, Shepard. Give them time."

"We don't have time!" He snarled, and Anderson simply shook his head. "We don't have time to fuck around with politicians. We need to prepare. They need to prepare. They're more fucking concerned about the public's good opinion than their lives. It's all fucking bullshit."

"It is. The offer was symbolic, but at least now they're not actively against you." Anderson replied, his voice cool and calm, a sharp contrast to Shepard's fire. "You have too many enemies already, Shepard. Don't try for more." The captain cast a look over his shoulder as Shepard's pacing slowed. "They will come around, and when they do, we'll need them. It can't hurt to maintain some goodwill."

"They're fucking us over."

"Your vocabulary hasn't expanded much in the last few years either, I see." Anderson turned back to the overview. "I'll keep them and the Alliance off your back, Shepard. Just get your job done. I'll keep pushing them to prepare."

"We can't –"

"Shepard, enough. Antagonizing them will do nothing but give them more reason to dismiss the Reapers as some delusion. You can't browbeat them into believing this." Anderson's voice grew harder, taking on the tone he used for command. "We have to give them a reason to believe us. So either bring me back some evidence, or let me do my job. You did give it to me, after all."

Shepard's eyes fell, the guilt at leaving his old mentor alone with these sharks returning instantly. "Yeah… Sorry about that."

Anderson sighed, giving a small shake of his head. "It needed doing."

"The last few years, after everything…" Shepard sighed, coming up to lean on the balcony beside the captain. "How has it been?"

Anderson looked him dead on, distinctly unimpressed. "You know how it's been, Shepard. Most of the time I feel like I'm beating my head against a wall. But we're taking strides. Humanity is more respected than it was, despite evidence to the contrary." He muttered, looking away again. "Cleaning up the Citadel took months. Would've been longer without the keepers - we lost more than half of what was left of Sovereign to those things, and unauthorized looters."

"That's convenient for the Council." Shepard murmured bitterly. Anderson hummed in agreement.

"Without enough of Sovereign to examine, it was easy for them to conclude it was a geth ship. You were right about the geth though, with Sovereign gone, they retreated, became disorganized. Their pockets of them here and there, but it's long since stopped being called a war. More like a cleanup." The captain muttered. "They're not quite the boogeymen they used to be."

"And the Alliance?"

"Our fleet is still hurting." Anderson said, something like regret in his voice. "But we're making repairs. Hopefully, it will be enough."

Shepard ran a hand over the lengthening stubble on his jaw, his thoughts echoing the older man's regret. He had no idea how much time they had, but if the constant, steady pulse in the dark of his dreams was any tell, it wasn't enough. They had to be ready. He had to be. But chasing down a swarm of kidnapping aliens on a Cerberus ship was enough of a headache without considering the bigger picture. Without considering that he was alone. Garrus at least was with now, watching his back. He could trust him, and Joker, and Chakwas. But it wasn't the same.

"_We will, Owen." Her voice was soft and warm, a contrast to the cool spray of water. He tightened his hold on her, fighting off the dreams trying to edge their way back to the forefront of his mind. "You're not alone in this, remember? You don't need to carry it by yourself."_

He shut his eyes against the memory, tightening his hold on the railing. _Two years. It's been two years since I've held her._ His chest tightened painfully.

"You look like you've been through hell, Owen." Anderson said quietly after a few moments had passed, and Shepard met his gaze. "Where were you?"

The commander's brow furrowed. "I was dead, Anderson. Or something like it. You think I sat my ass on a beach for two years?"

"No. I know you wouldn't do that." Anderson sighed. "It just seems so damn impossible. And Cerberus…"

"Believe me, I'm not fucking happy about it. And I'm not working for them." Shepard snapped quickly, his eyes following a wandering elcor below them. "They just happen to be funding the operation."

"You're still working with them, Shepard. The Council aren't the only ones that have a problem with your association. It'll damage your reputation."

Shepard snorted in disbelief. "Like I had a good fucking reputation to begin with."

"You're a hero. They all knew it once, even if it's beginning to fade." Anderson grumbled. "Just don't give anyone a reason to doubt it. And watch your goddamn back on that ship – no matter how good they pretend to be now, Cerberus' only interest is its own. Don't trust them."

"You really think you have to tell me that?" Shepard grunted. "Besides, I have a few people with from the old Normandy. Joker and Chakwas. Garrus. They've got my back. Hopefully I'll be able to find a few more from my old crew. I need a good team for this, if I have any fucking chance at being successful." He watched as Anderson let out a long, tired breath, avoiding his gaze. He was holding something back. "Have you heard from Gunnery Chief Williams? I could use her in this."

Using Ash's title felt foreign, but it didn't hurt any less. He hoped it would help the words come out more casually. He knew he still sounded desperate from the way Anderson's face fell.

"Operations Chief Williams is still with the Alliance." Anderson said slowly, steadily, his gaze focused on the view of the Presidium before them. "But she's working on a special mission. It's classified." His voice was short and clipped, meant to put an end to Shepard's questioning.

But he sure as fuck wasn't done questioning.

"I'm not asking what her mission is. I'm just asking where she is." Shepard growled, his voice grating and desperate again, some of the heat still lingering from his spat with the Council. Anderson remained infuriatingly silent. "At least give me a way to contact her. I need to talk to her, Anderson."

"I'm sorry. I can't say any more. Not while you're with Cerberus."

The words hit him like a blow, and the fury that rose in him demanded he fight back. He pushed himself from the balcony roughly. "You're fucking serious?"

"Shepard – "

"No. You don't trust me now, right? I'm a fucking liability to the Alliance. Just some Cerberus pawn."

"You have to understand – "

"Oh, fuck that. I don't have to understand shit. I get it, I had the audacity to get myself killed and now I'm a big fucking traitor for working with the assholes that brought me back to life." Anderson still didn't face him, the man's shoulders slumping further as Shepard felt the blood pound through him. He knew he was lashing out, but he couldn't stop. He was fuming. "They killed my unit, Anderson. They've tried to kill me. I fucking realize I can't trust them. But I was hoping I could still rely on you."

The man's eyes finally found his, sad and tired and hurt. "_Owen._"

"You have a job to do, I know." Shepard snarled, pacing. Everything was building up again. The pounding in his head and the luminescent red lines tracing an unnatural map over his body. His death. His loss. The constant, raging fear. And not having her to help him through it. "I woke up a few weeks ago and found out I lost everything. _Again._ I'm fucking sick of people trying to stop me from putting things back together, from finding her. I need her with me." The words cut like glass on the way out.

Anderson started, but any response he might have had was cut short as the door opened. Shepard's fists clenched tighter, spinning to face the intruder. He had expected to find one of his waiting crew and was ready to tell them to just fucking wait, but stopped as he was met with a much shittier surprise.

"Anderson, we need to talk about – Shepard! What are _you_ doing here?" Udina's small, ratty frame and superior tone did nothing to defuse him. He had almost forgotten how much he hated the man. Anderson cleared his throat behind him.

"I invited Shepard. We just finished our meeting with the Council." Anderson supplied, taking a few careful steps forward. His eyes flickered between the two, no doubt noting the mirrored expressions of hate. "I think it would be wise for you to return later."

The ambassador's eyes widened as he approached Shepard with a look of disgust. "You _what?!_ Councilor, do the words political shit-storm mean anything to you?" He spat as he talked, gesturing angrily at the commander as if he were an offensive piece of furniture. Shepard inhaled sharply, trying to suppress the ringing in his ears, trying to ignore the blood pounding wildly through his body. He needed an outlet. It was too much. "Shepard's return will be a bureaucratic nightmare for us! We have to get ahead of this, control the rumors. We may be able to deny association." The small man stepped closer.

"Get out of my fucking face." His voice was low, his words slow and laced with heat as the ambassador invaded his space. Udina didn't bother backing away, apparently content with pretending Shepard was still dead.

"We'll talk about it later, Udina. I think it's best if you leave." Anderson's words were a warning, but Udina paid no attention.

"No, Anderson. _He_ has to leave now - before more people witness him here."

Shepard watched the ambassador's hand come towards him. He felt the little man grab hold of his arm. He had a vague awareness of Anderson shouting something, but the effect was instant. He lashed out, weeks of rage driving him forward. His fist met the ambassador's nose with sickening but immensely satisfying crunch. The blow was enough to topple the man to the ground, unconscious and bleeding. It was brutal and treasonous, but he relished the moment. Until Anderson spoke again.

"Get out of here, Shepard." He sounded tired again. Tired and sad and defeated. But Shepard couldn't bring himself to apologize. He was still so damn angry. "Before he wakes up. He'll try to press charges." Shepard met the man's tired eyes once more and nodded, stepping over Udina towards the door. It opened at his approach. "Don't get yourself killed again, Owen." His old captain called after him. "You owe me a hell of a lot of favors."

Shepard walked out, the door shutting behind him without another word.


End file.
